gray skies ahead
by therentyoupay
Summary: COMPLETE. "BREAK THE ICE" SERIES: 3/3. Gray skies and blue eyes and everything in between. — Cover art by niolynn.
1. Arc I : daybreak : step by step

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own _Avatar: The Legend of Korra. _Or Tahno. :(

**Author's Notes: **_6/2/12._

**PLEASE READ: **So. I bet many of you are a little confused as to why I'm starting a brand new fic. Let me just say that this is not necessarily a _brand new _piece... simply put, you should know that this project has become _monstrous_ and that it cannot be contained in three mere installments. Instead of one giant multi-_chapter_ fic, think of this series as a collection of _arcs_ that follow my ever-growing list of _what ifs._If any of you have ever read the glorious, majestic, awe-inspiring piece that is _Tempest in a Teacup _by _**AkaVertigo**_, you may understand.

This series is going to continue on as a canon parallel on the basis that this is how the series might have gone: (1) if _break the ice_ had actually happened, (2) if the show were intended for a more mature audience, and (3) if the timeline were stretched a little bit differently (as in, if the characters were allowed a little more development across more than twelve episodes). I'm going to try to make it align with canon as closely as possible for as long as I can, but don't be surprised if it eventually diverges slightly in later arcs, especially if Tahno appears again! (_AND HE'D BETTER_.)

Most of this _gray skies ahead_ arc will take place **between the the end of episode seven and midway through episode eight** (you know, _before_ shit hit the fan). I will address the end of episode eight eventually, when we have more source material, but in the meantime, please consider all of the following scenes as what has been happening off-screen in the in-between.

**MORE ABOUT THIS COLLECTION: **Please keep in mind that many of these drabbles and pieces are either (1) my personal headcanons or (2) literally just the physical manifestations of my jumbled streams of consciousness as I pour out my feels. D: My interpretations of these characters may not match perfectly to yours, but I hope that you are still able to enjoy them anyway... and as always, you should please feel free to share your own personal theories with me! :) I'd love to hear them. You can find me by the same namesake on both tumblr and LiveJournal.

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION:** It may seem a little contradictory, but I switched back and forth between "No Light, Not Light" by Florence + The Machine and "The Fighter" by Gym Class Heroes.

I know everyone is still a little winded from episode eight, but I hope that most of you have recovered well enough to read another installment. :) Happy Korra Day, everyone!

Beta'd by the lovely **ebonyquill**. :)

**JUST TO CLARIFY: **You should read my two Tahnorra one-shots, _break the ice_ and _but we're still so cold_, before reading this. It won't make sense otherwise. :P

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**daybreak  
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_step-by-step_

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It is nearly dawn.

He sits on the bathroom floor, his heels and hipbone digging into the cold ceramic as he considers the rust of dried blood staining the quiet of his walls, and with his eyes he follows the hopeless trails of glass littering the space from the sink to the door. The morning sun is just beginning to slip through the tattered blinds at his windows from across the apartment, and though it is still tinged with gray and thick with fog, its light is gentle and soft.

"So," he whispers to the cold tile. "This is it then."

He takes a shard in one hand, between index finger and thumb, looking closely at the jagged ridges speckled with blood and the first thing that comes to mind is _well, that wasn't exactly a clean cut, was it? _But this is too painfully obvious in too many respects, so he clasps the broken piece in his hand, and gazes upon his jaded reflection with a broken smile and a mirthless laugh. The grays of the morning only deepen the contrast between the dark circles framing the dullness of his pale, tired eyes, and suddenly his mind is lost in another haze—_gray skies, blue eyes_—and it's foggy with insomnia and the creeping thoughts of everything he has tried so hard to bury for so many days and something that _must_ be resignation. But the longer he sits in the silence, the more the sweeping smoke of his thoughts eventually begins to dissipate, and because there is no longer any alcohol lacing his blood, the images of his memories are so much clearer than what he'd previously pictured, the voices are so much louder than he'd imagined, and the blues are so much bluer than anything he could ever have—

—thought _possible_ and fucking hell, he never thought he would ever be this stupid.

He feels the edges pierce the fresh skin of his calloused palm, and he casts it aside with a hot breath through clenched teeth and snarling lips. The sound of the glass chipping along the ceramic is jarring, but no more so than the resounding silence that surrounds him once the echo fades.

_Don't think about her_, he swallows, breathing deeply amidst the mocking calm. _Not now. It's not worth thinking about now_. _Think about something else. Anything. Think about... think about __anything__, whatever, just pick something that's actually fucking useful, you fool, like how you're knee-deep in broken glass and you should probably... _And then he pauses, really seeing the scattered mess before him for the first time with sharp eyes.

He's been staring at these pieces all morning, but it only just now occurs to him that _this is beyond repair_; the mirror is broken, and he will never see his full reflection—his true image—in these diamond shards again. He will not try to fit the pieces back together; to try would be madness, would be worse than futile, and besides, he's not even sure he even wants it back anymore because _it was such a flimsy and ostentatious thing, anyway_. All he can do now is clean up the mess and keep doing as he's always done and hope that the spirits will provide him with enough luck in the coming days not to catch his bare feet on any lingering flecks of glass lining the grout... His recent track record is not encouraging, but he decides that even though it all looks impossible_—fucking impossible—_maybe... maybe it's not actually going to be as difficult to restore as it looks.

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And then his thoughts are nothing more than a mess of chaotic, jumbled threads knotted together because does he or does he _not_ want to fix this and—_is he even really talking about a mirror anymore?_—and of course it wouldn't be difficult, because he has already been through _so much worse_, hasn't he, and after everything—after all of the pain and uncertainty and loss, all of it—

_Don't I deserve a little luck_?

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As Tahno begins to register the heaviness of the room and the way everything sticks unpleasantly to his skin, he begins to notice other things as well: the grimy stench of alcohol seeping out through his pores, the clamminess of his palms in the open air, the hardness of the floor beneath him, the ache in his temple, the howling hunger in his gut, the thickness of his tongue, the burn in his throat, the choking thirst for—_water water water waterwaterwater—_a drink, for _something_, for another breath, for another chance or—_just maybe_—another life.

He runs his fingers through his battered hair, pausing when his fingers snag along the tangles, and he pulls the strands out in front of his nose to get a closer look. The hair feels stiff and cracked and dry, and he sighs, disgusted with himself—_for too many reasons_—and lets the hair fall back against his cheek, limp. Then he picks himself up off the floor.

He stretches his limbs half-heartedly and massages the stiffness of his neck while he thinks. Tahno knows he needs a shower, just like he needs to clean this up, just like he needs rest—_just like he knows why he'd gotten so little the night before—_but he's not sure where to start. Tahno decides that while it only makes sense to clean up the broken mess before trying to do anything else, he really needs to clear his head first. He stretches more fully, freeing the kinks from his tightly-woven muscles, and decides that the morning will proceed—_step-by-step, one at a time_—as follows: he will clean up the mess only after getting something to drink from the bar, then he will clean _himself_ up, and then go back downstairs, get some food in his system, and _then_ he's going to talk to Narook about getting a new mirror.

He'd been thinking of buying a bigger one for a while, anyway.

Then he will come back up to his room and... and figure the rest out from there. But that will come later. _Save it for later_, he repeats, and before he can stop himself, he wonders if _she_ will come later, and he crushes it immediately; if he'd wanted to continue being pathetic, he thinks, he'd have harbored that oblivion and stayed on the floor.

_Step-by-step._

The barest trace of clean sunlight has finally broken through, and he watches as it filters into the room, silently stretching across the worn hardwood until the soft warmth kisses his fingers, and then he looks up. It is going to be a long day, a long week—_even long years, maybe, which he'd never given much thought to before_—but he is getting ahead of himself again. He needs to focus on leaving those decisions for when the time actually comes, and to focus on living in the moment instead.

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And Tahno knows through the absolute certainty of his throbbing headache that the present moment calls for a drink, and that the only choice he should be considering in this moment is _what kind?_

He stuffs his hands into beaten pockets and shuffles into the open room, leisurely making his way to the stairs with a sly twist of his lips and a spark in his eyes that hints at a fire that once was. Tahno has a feeling that he already knows what he's in the mood for, and—as long as he doesn't read too much into it—he thinks he just might be able to enjoy it, after all.

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"Well, what do you know?" he whispers aloud.

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_Tea._

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	2. Arc I : daybreak : barriers

******DISCLAIMER: **I do not own _Avatar: The Legend of Korra. _Or Tahno. :(

**Author's Notes: **_6/9/12. _This part was actually supposed to be combined with part three, but it was reaching 15,000+ words so I needed to break it up a little bit. Thus, consider this installment a filler chapter of sorts.

**PLEASE REMEMBER: **Most of this _gray skies ahead_ arc will take place **between the the end of episode seven and midway through episode eight** (you know, _before _shit hit the fan). I will address the end of episode eight eventually, when we have more source material, but in the meantime, please consider all of the following scenes as what has been happening off-screen in the in-between. Also, please keep in mind that many of these drabbles and pieces are either (1) my personal headcanons or (2) literally just the physical manifestations of my jumbled streams of consciousness as I pour out my feels. D:

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: **"Let Go" by Frou Frou, "Spectrum" by Florence + The Machine (again), and "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane (or _Glee_!).

**Beta'd** by _**ebonyquill**_. :)

* * *

**daybreak**

_barriers_

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_Just buck up and get a move on, you coward._

At the sight of the old barman leaning his elbows on the counter, the smile she'd hopelessly plastered over her face while out on the main street finally slides into something a little more natural. Narook is leisurely wiping dry a stack of cleaned glasses with a fraying cloth, and the set of her shoulders relaxes as she catches his eye and waves. For a moment, the warm tilt of the smile cast into his burly face reminds her of her father, and she has to clear her throat as she approaches his work station. It has been three days since Korra was last here, and the Noodlery is empty, save for two tables in the open room that are dotted with a middle-aged couple sharing a bowl of soup and an old woman reading the paper while sipping tea, so she pulls up a stool close to where he stands, grabs a clean cloth from his pile, and begins to help him dry.

"Korra," his deep voice intones as he nods gratefully to her working hands, offering a deep bow from his neck as he lifts his own glass before her.

"Morning, Narook," she greets him warmly in turn, feeling her lips curve more easily around the smile that had eluded her so wholly on the ride over.

"Been wondering about you. Haven't read much about the Avatar in the papers lately," he remarks casually as he sets aside another finished glass, but when Korra glances up to his face, she sees features that have been sharpened by years of experience, and eyes that see a little _too_ clearly. She sighs a laugh and tries to escape his perceptiveness by scraping the edge of her thumbnail against a small fleck staining the bottom of a glass.

"No news is good news, right?" she shrugs irresolutely, and Narook gives her a careful look that she sees in Tenzin all the time; but while her airbending master would no doubt attempt to follow this look of speculation with some old airbending proverb or other admittedly legitimate piece of grudgingly helpful wisdom, Korra and Narook merely continue to work in comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

And Korra's, which have been eating away at her for days, are beginning to overtake her sanity completely. _Amon is still out there_, her mind wanders helplessly as she slowly drags her flimsy cloth along the mouth of her glass, and her fingers clench around the rim. _Just biding his time._

Narook notices the whites of her knuckles with a small frown and sets his cloth on the rack. With the flats of his palms along the ridge of the bar, he suddenly asks, "You want some stew?"

Korra looks up with a start. "What?"

Narook points to her hands. "You look like you could use some food... And I think that glass was good and dry five minutes ago."

She flushes slightly, hurriedly placing the cup with the others, and offers him a guilty smile. "Sorry."

He shakes his head with a knowing quirk to his lips. "So how 'bout it? You came to a Noodlery. Want some noodles?"

Korra opens her mouth, mind searching all of the words she'd painstakingly prepared with Naga, but now that she's here in the bar, she can't seem to find them. Instead, she stumbles through a number of sloppy sentences about not really being all that hungry and being _just, you know, in the neighborhood_ and wanting to drop by and say hello, but as Narook watches her finish her jabbering with an amused quirk of his brow, she thinks it might have made more sense coming out of a hog monkey instead.

_I bet a hog monkey would be a better liar, too, _she scowls inwardly.

"I'll go order up some sea prunes," he tells her with an enigmatic smile, and his eyes are expressive with some unspoken promise of confidence. He turns away for a moment to disappear behind the deep blue tapestry that leads to the kitchens and Korra feels both relieved and even more anxious than before; apparently, decades of tending bars have given Narook the perfect balance of listening and reading between the lines, which Korra appreciates, but she curses under her breath because, _dammit, _he can see right through her since _he has the perfect balance of listening and reading between the lines_.

She huffs. _Or maybe I really am just that transparent._

"All set," he announces as soon as he pulls back the flap. "They'll be done in a few."

"Thanks," she mutters, staring blankly at her fingers, which are absently toying with the fringes of the dingy cloth. At first Narook says nothing, quietly resuming his position with steady hands, and watches her from the corner of his eye.

"Rough weather we've been having," he says after a few minutes of silence, inspecting his work with a calculative gaze. "Was sure we'd be having more snow by now, but the skies are still just as gray with rain as ever. Makes for slow business, believe it or not... At times like these, it's hard to see even the regulars in here. Been wondering when they might be back." She hums noncommittally, only half-listening, and he attempts a different approach. Narook shifts his torso over the bar, supporting his weight on his forearms as he leans closer to her and, in a very quiet, very clear voice, he admits, "I was wondering when you'd be back, too... though something tells me it's not just for the seal jerky like the others."

Her eyes jump to his of their own accord and, by the look of the cryptic light glinting within them, she knows that this time she's been caught for sure.

"How is he?" she breathes, with her mouth running dry and her voice dropping to nothing more than a whisper.

Narook leans back, his eyes still glinting, and he shrugs with a small inscrutable smile. She senses mischief, and her brow quirks, inquisitive and slightly suspicious, but he only widens his smile and nods to the left as he says, "Why don't you ask him yourself? He's at the booth in the back corner." But this is not what Korra was expecting to hear, and her surprise renders her mute. "Go on. I'll have the food brought to your table."

She's not entirely certain that she's got any real control over her limbs as she eases herself away from the table, and she's even less certain of it when her legs fluidly carry her farther into the restaurant. Past the table where she and Bolin had shared their post-match meal, past the large circular booth where the Wolfbats' posters had proudly hung so very, very long ago, she slowly makes it past all of the fuzzy memories, forcing her strides to remain unconcerned as she gets nearer and nearer to the open archway. She has never been on this side of the restaurant before, but she knows that it leads to the more secluded section behind a dividing half-wall, and the deep breath that she tries to inhale as she approaches the barrier is not enough to steady her, but it will have to do. She takes another breath, and just like that, without warning, all of the thoughts that had plagued her for the last three days, as well as all of the doubts that she had buried on the ride over with Naga, they unleash themselves upon her once more in a whirlwind flurry of uncertainty.

She can't _believe_ herself.

Sure, she isn't exactly known for resisting impulses or having the clearest head, but... What she had done only a few days ago? Never before would she ever have thought herself the kind of person capable of getting so caught up in the moment as to actually take advantage of another person's pain or vulnerability in such a way... Korra can pretend that she doesn't know what came over her, but she's already admitted once today that a hog monkey might be a better liar, and she'd really rather not develop that comparison any further. She can try to tell herself all she wants that what she did was selfless—_and for that first night after she left, try, she certainly did_—but she knows in her heart that it wasn't true.

She'd done it for herself just as much as she'd done it for him.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, _she berates as she nears the dividing wall, and with each step the floodgate opens another inch; the leaks blend together as all of her worries come pouring out, breaking through the surface, and soon her head is such a jumbled mess of her overcrowded, self-disgusted, furious little thoughts that she can hardly pull them apart into any discernible pieces. Her heart pounds in her ears as her mind blindly runs through the possible outcomes of her visit today once more, but she finds it to be just as pointless as ever. Putting his bending loss aside, as well as all of the blame that might as well be attributed to her—_as if such a thing were possible_—what if his resentment for her only stemmed from what had happened between them the other night? Would that really be any better than if he just blamed her outright for everything? Would it be worse for him to believe that during her healing session—_oh, that's, quite the euphemism, you spineless—_she had been merely acting as the Avatar? Would that be the real source of his animosity towards her, in that he believed her to be acting from higher ground, back on her pedestal? Or would it be closer to the truth to say that the presence of _Korra—_his one-time rival, opponent, _something, whatever—_with complete disregard for the fact that she was some liaison to the spirit world, that would prove the true cause for such intense bitterness and anger and distrust? How in the world would she go about fixing either? And more importantly—her fingers clench as her less-than-altruistic thoughts resurface—is she even sure if it'd be _worth_ it?

_Do I even want to try?_

She scolds herself again... for her un-Avatar-like thoughts, for her baffling callousness, for her sudden uncharacteristic faint-heartedness_, _for not figuring out her own feelings before trying to figure out his—_impossible, impossible, impossible_—but she can't release the breath she is holding because she is already stepping through the archway now, and he is there, sitting alone in the back booth with the paper and a steaming cup of something like nothing in the world is amiss and _what the hell does he think he's doing?_

He is facing her, but he doesn't look up immediately, and it gives her a moment to study him as she slowly approaches his table. He is clean, though not exactly polished. Nothing about him screams for attention, and in fact, his simple clothes actually seem to invite the opposite; he is dressed in a very basic short-sleeved white undershirt and dark pants, with hair that looks washed and combed, though not up to its former shine. Korra realizes that there are two impressions of Tahno in her mind—_one slick and garish and the other broken and beaten_—but this Tahno does not fit either memory.

She watches him with careful eyes, swallowing the nervous breath as she lifts her chin and strides forward, and it only takes another step or two before he glances up.

They lock eyes.

Korra can actually _feel_ the skip in her heart, and she is terrified that he might have heard it too, but she keeps her expression neutral, and so does he. And then his eyes return to the page. She doesn't even get a second glance. "Ah," he says ineffably. "Avatar."

"Tahno," she begins cautiously. "You seem... better."

She's absently afraid that she's gone and said something stupid again, but he _does_ seem better and she can't help but point it out. She's still trying reconcile this new image of him with everything else she knows about his character—_and honestly, what does she actually know about him, anyway?_—when she sees that the cup in front of him is filled with tea, even though it looks like it is untouched. Her lips twitch, but before she can help it, she wonders if it might be spiked.

"It's all relative, I guess," he shrugs, and the first rays of realization begin to dawn on her.

_So we're back to this, are we? _

She sees ice sculptures and a moonlit beach and _the sea of so many things left unsaid_, and she already knows the game he wants to play; it's not like either of them really ever stopped playing it, after all.

"Still," she bites her lip awkwardly, mind going a little numb as her—_useless_—plan for this morning endeavor suddenly changes course. "You look well, anyway."

He shrugs again, turning the page, and it is here that she starts noticing even smaller, more subtle details that she didn't immediately catch when she first appeared. She sees it in the line of his shoulders, the slant of his brow, and the focus in his otherwise preoccupied eyes; his aura is coated with a hint of its former haughtiness, and the indescribable quirk of his lips is tinged with arrogance, but instead of smacking her in the face with distaste, the impression strikes Korra as... subdued?

Again, it occurs to her that _this isn't the Tahno she knows_, but maybe it is, and does she really even know who _she_ is anymore?

She shakes her head quickly. _He wants to pretend that nothing has happened between us? Fine. I can play along_. Clean head of hair or no, she'd bet that he's probably still a little unhinged, and something tells her that drudging up uncomfortable memories is not the way to go. She slides into the seat directly across from him, and the executive decision to not bring up their tricky somewhat-pasts—_until he does_—is sealed when he glances up from his paper once more, when blue connects with deeper blue. It's the least she can do, she reminds herself, especially after how royally she's screwed everything else up thus far, and besides, she isn't entirely sure she wants to just dive into such a sure-to-be fun-filled conversation yet, anyway. A strange voice slips through her mind, and when she realizes that it's hers—_So, you and me, pretty boy... how about it?—_she hides her cringe by snatching up the unopened pair of chopsticks from her place settings, and snaps them apart with a satisfying crack.

"What are you doing here?"

She falters for only a second, as her newly-formed resolve begins to sway, but it is quickly rectified; she enjoys the feeling of having something tangible to hold onto and, using her pair of wooden chopsticks as some measly excuse of an anchor, she gently stabs the utensils into the table in a familiar rhythm. It gives her exactly the kind of tension-relieving distraction she needs to conjure the bout of nonchalance that had never quite made it into her conversation with Narook, and she offers Tahno a casual shrug after a moment of consideration.

"It's brunch time."

His eyes rove over the empty tables surrounding them. "But what are you doing _here_?"

Narook chooses this moment to to emerge through the archway behind them, arms full with the tray of Korra's food. Her attention shifts immediately, and Tahno scowls when she completely ignores his question in favor of eagerly helping Narook arrange the various dishes in front of her. While Korra is distracted by her meal, positively salivating over the old man's seaweed concoctions, said noodle connoisseur shoots his young tenant a meaningful glance. Tahno's jaw drops slightly, aghast, his mouth hanging agape in his incredulity that Narook might be pulling this _again_, and before Korra can look back up, Tahno tries to swat the man away with an irritated flick of his wrist and a nasty curl to his lip. But Narook only chuckles when Korra thanks him, and smiles as he takes a moment to consider each of them, parting with a lively, "_Enjoy_."

She rearranges a few of the smaller dishes to make any potential clumsiness less likely, and he is left stewing over his paper as he tries to ignore the busy girl in front of him. He'd almost forgotten that he'd asked her something when she suddenly answers.

"I'm here because I didn't want to bother Narook at the bar any longer," she lies through her noodles, and she can't help but wonder at what it might say about her that she couldn't tell a fib to save her life when it came to Narook, but with _him_ they seemed to flowed out of her mouth without the slightest hesitation.

"But you have no qualms about bothering _me__,_" he eyes her shrewdly, sighing in exasperation as he listened to the sounds of her slurping down noodles.

"You went out of your way to bother me for weeks—in this very restaurant, even. I'm merely returning the favor... And besides, I didn't come here _just_ for the food, you know."

He stills, narrowed eyes silently warning her not to push too far, but he doesn't seem to trust her on mind-reading alone because he starts, "I don't need your—"

"Calm your ostrich-horse down, I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead." _Again. _"I've grown rather fond of Narook and I figured he could use the break from the responsibility for once."

He blinks, a little unsure as to the direction this conversation is going. He pins her with a dubious stare and asks, "So you're here for Narook?"

"Oh, no," she says calmly, taking another bite. He has to squint and strain his ears to make out her words through her mouth full of food. "Make no mistake, I'm here for you, too. But this is a matter of priorities, pretty boy," she swallows and smiles as she points to her dishes, and she's sure that the warmth that flits across his eyes can't be imaginary. "I came for the jerk, but I'm staying for the jerky."

"Is that so?" he intones dryly.

"Priorities," she repeats with a smile, and stuffs another bite inside.

"I'm pretty sure that stuff is already dead, Avatar," he says with amused scorn. "There's really no need for such brutality." She sends him a look, making a show of giving her stew another hearty stab and swirl as she eggs him on with her eyes, and he just barely manages to stifle a disbelieving chuckle as the words _this girl is insane_ fly across his mind.

"At least I'm eating," she counters. "Have you even had breakfast yet?" She suddenly pegs him with a curious glance, and but as long as her eyes don't start tracing over his features in mild concern, he thinks that this, perhaps, he can deal with. Still, he wishes he'd just let her keep her attention on her butchered meat.

"Do you always coddle your companions? Because if this is the price of your friendship, I'm not sure I'm willing to pay."

Her movements still, and wide, blue eyes blink up at him, but by the the time he realizes what he's said, it's too late.

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"...friendship?"

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Since that day, they've met up again maybe once or twice... or perhaps it's actually a little bit closer to four or five times, but it's not like they're counting or anything, are they? It's always in the same booth, always just around the same time, and she chows down the same noodles and he orders the same never-touched cup of hot tea while they talk about all of the superficial things that never _quite_ seem to hide the things they'd like to keep hidden. But they manage to keep it all buried for at least a little while—_just long enough—_and this must be why they keep coming back.

She learns that he is still not necessarily a morning person. Apparently, this is according to some age-old notion that the people of the moon are all natural-born night owls, but she knows that he knows that _she_ is a morning person, and the fact that he's been awake and in his booth—_their booth_—during the early brunch hour that she usually favors—_every single time_—means something to her.

He learns that she's almost as good at pretending not to care as he is—_so good that sometimes he wonders if it might not be such an act after all_—but he figures that if there's someone in this world who might be an expert in compartmentalizing, it'd be the Avatar, right?

If he'd any lingering doubts about what had happened between them, all it took to convince him that the other night had been a fluke was a few visits from hers truly. Korra might _think_ that she's attracted to him; she probably still assumes that it's got to do with something like his looks, his arrogance, the person he used to be, the chemistry, _whatever._ And while it might have been true once, he knows the kind of girl Korra is, and although she is different from any other woman he's taken, he can still read her in many of the ways he reads the kinds of girls he usually fucks. Korra is a healer; a bleeding-heart with a wicked right hook, and a hot-headed fixer with the burning will to try. And he knows that the reason she is still so drawn to him—_even after all the pathetic shit she's seen_—is because she likes the idea of fixing him... not for any shallow reason like pride or self-gain, but maybe for something like guilt or responsibility or _recompense__. _But it's all the same to him; he's been _fine on his own for years, thanks_ and—

He's not ready to be fixed just yet.

Tahno knows that she could be tempted, and despite his obvious foolishness of many other fronts, he's not fool enough to see that it's not—_it wouldn't be_—the same as before. He knows that if one morning he were to suddenly invite her back to his room, right then and there, in between the bits of banter fraught with unresolved tension, she may or may not follow—_she's unpredictable, wild, headstrong_—but he has a pretty good feeling that she would.

But that is not the way he wants to experience her hands on his body.

Then when she ends up convinced that the wolfbat is good and ready to take flight again, she'll up and leave, with another do-gooder Avatar badge on her chest and a wish of _best of luck in all your future endeavors_ on her tongue, and she would no doubt end up defeating Amon—_and he'd do anything to see it, maybe even die to witness it for himself—_and then living out the rest of her savior lifestyle with some other bender. If he were the kind of person to allow himself such thoughts, he'd like to think that maybe she'd get enough sense to find somebody worthwhile, but he knows that she'll more likely than not end up with that deluded fire ferret—or his love-sick brother—once they got their shit together, and whatever, it's not like matters.

And it's not like he'd ever had any intentions of being anyone's endgame, had he?

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This must be why, even after two weeks of the little game they play, he still doesn't acknowledge what she did for him that night_._

But it's okay; he makes up for it in early morning risings, and she does what she can to tread lightly, and they come to terms with the rules of their design. He doesn't give her any sort of _thank you_, and she doesn't ask.

It's not like she thinks she really deserves one anyway.

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* * *

**NEXT INSTALLMENT:  
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Arc I: **daybreak** – _the art of the downfall_


	3. Arc I : daybreak : art of the downfall

**Author's Notes:** _6/16/12_. Two very important notes about my personal life timeline, (1) my last day of work is on Monday, which greatly opens up my weekly schedule (for everything, but especially writing!), and (2) I leave for Spain on July 5th (I'll be gone for over a month!), which means that I will have little to no time to write for the majority of the summer... which is a bummer, but hey, _voy a España_, so. ;)

This also means that I'm hoping to try to make the chapter updates occur at least 2-3 times a week instead of once a week because this has to be finished before I leave for Spain in two and a half weeks. Let's see if I can do it, yeah? :P Also. Grammar? What is grammar? (**NOTE: **Reading this story will not help you answer this question.)

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: **"Somewhere In Between" by Lifehouse, "Pressure (Alesso Remix)" by Alex Kenji, Starkillers & Nadia Ali, and honestly, every reference to Tahno's earlier lifestyle should be accompanied by "In the City" by Kevin Rudolf. It's the perfect backdrop to those days, in my opinion.

**Beta'd **by the ever-patient, always honest, always thorough **ebonyquill**. :) Thank you, Alison!

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**daybreak**

_the art of the downfall_

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_Hey, _he thinks.

_Maybe this doesn't have to be so bad, after all. _

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But it is not long before he is dealt an unpleasant reminder as to why he had started drinking in the first place.

What had passed over Tahno during those first nights after _that night_ should never be considered sleep; once the first traces of reality had begun to crawl into his veins, he had been floating from one hour to the next in a haze of denial and delirium, and it was all he could do to keep from losing himself entirely. As the first of the soul-torn days passed on, the reach for the alcohol grew instinctual, the hope for sleep was deemed futile, and the hazy silence of his mind running blank became second nature.

The alcohol washed out everything—his blood, his mind, his vision.

His memories.

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_His dreams._

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But without the sedative in his system, the alcohol-distorted blurs that had washed over his subconsciousness in the fruitless midnight hours for so many weeks have become all the more visible and all the more terrorizing. For over a week, his nightmares have replayed the scene in the stadium over and over with impressive precision—the victory, the mask, the fear, the loss—always the same, always inescapable, and he swore that there could be nothing worse.

And then he awakens tonight in a sheen of cold sweat, jack-knifing his naked torso upright into the dampness of the room's chilled air with wide eyes and a broken cry unable to escape his throat. His fingers shake and tremble with the weight of the nightmare being lifted from his soul, and he falls back onto his forearms, letting his head roll back as he tries to remember who he is and what that is supposed to mean. The sheets are hopelessly tangled and the pillow is damp with sweat, but he can focus on nothing but the ragged sound of his breathing against the city's nightly sounds outside and far below downstairs, and the ice that has laced his veins.

Tonight's nightmare is different.

Usually, it's the same old drill. _Win the fight. Take the Championship. Stumble back. Lose your bending. _Wake up. _ Repeat, repeat, repeat. _But tonight is honored with a very special interruption; in a rather unexpected twist, the ending has become something else entirely.

_Lose your bending._

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_Take it back._

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Yet here he is, half-awake and half-dead and lying alone in his twisted bed at an ungodly hour, and he doesn't know the time, nor the point, and he—_still __can't __bend_—and he can't decide.

Would it have been better to have never gone to sleep last night in the first place, and to have suffered through the memories of the earlier nightmares over and over again?

Or would it have been better to have had the dream, and to have never woken up at all?

Tahno slides a palm over his face, biting his cheek as he falls back to the pillow and closes his eyes, and tries again.

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But it only gets worse.

The night bled into the following morning, and although he wasn't entirely sure where one ended and the other began, he knew that the day was off to a rocky start. After finally winning a grueling round against the damned insomnia—only to be beaten by yet another rendition of this newest nightmare—a very groggy, less-than-well-rested Tahno gracelessly rolls himself to the floor, where he lays for some minutes, trying not to think, trying not to move, but simply trying to sink into the hardwood. When he finally grows too uncomfortable with the slick layer of sweat coating his skin and the feel of his knotted hair catching on the slivers of the floor, he stands up, tearing his shirt over his head in one fluid movement and stalks into the bathroom towards the shower. But when he twists the faucet to open the floodgates, disbelief coats his blood, and he freezes.

There is no water.

Thirteen minutes, twenty-seven curses, and one split-knuckle later, Tahno finally has enough semblance of mind to go find and question Narook. But before he even reaches his apartment door, he finds a note from the man in question on the floor, a note which must have been slipped through the crack sometime during the night. The messy scrawl details the water shortage that his flat has acquired due to his overload usage the previous week, but ensures him that the water supply will return to normal... in a matter of days. In the meantime, he can expect inconsistent service at best, and just as Tahno begins to fume—_just as he starts to feel himself go just a little bit crazy_—he notices that this month's bill slip, ever-so-conveniently clipped to the note, is somehow still no costlier than usual. He breathes deeply, trying to focus on the air as it slides in and out of his lungs, but it doesn't help, and neither does the crumpling and unfolding and re-crumpling of Narook's message in his clammy palm; he tosses it across the room at the wall just for good measure, but he knows full well that his real frustration does not lie with the old man, or the bill, or any of his mounting personal debts.

He runs a hand through his hair, but when his fingers come away they are oily to the touch, and he groans aloud as his fist connects with the mattress. It isn't nearly as satisfying as it should be, so he rips a pillow from the covers and propels it across the room, where it smacks against the wall in a _woomf_ as all of the air rushes outward, spilling out into the open space of his apartment. His breathing is heavy and labored, his blood is bursting with the spinning coils of the aggravation and adrenaline that continue to surge through his veins without egress, and when the remaining pillows join their partner in a heap on the other side, he still feels no release. His skin feels too tight, like it is stretched taut over his bones, and there is a prickling at his neck that will not go away no matter how many times he slides his hand over the surface.

He needs to move. To get out of this apartment. It doesn't matter where, he realizes, it just has to be _out, _it just has to be anywhere but this tiny, suffocating set of rooms.

And then he is grabbing the first shirt he can find that feels like it might be somewhat clean. He haphazardly pulls a white undershirt on as he storms into the hallway, and it is only when he reaches the bottom of the steps that he finally manages to get the second arm through the short sleeve.

He does not know what time it is, but from the burgeoning rays of sunshine beyond the parted tapestry of the entryway and the darkness of the still-dimmed lights indoors, it looks like it's—_too early—_just around opening hours. It's not like he had any real reason for coming down other than the need to _get out_, but now that he's down here and the pungent smell of frying seal and stewing prunes hits his nose, he knows for sure that food is out of the question. There aren't any patrons, though Tahno doesn't know how long that will last, so he looks for his landlord to fix up something to drink—_anything_—just so he can get on with his miserable life, but Narook is nowhere to be found. He feels a strand of greasy hair fall into his eyes and he slaps it away impatiently with a scowl, but it only slides back into place a moment later, and by the time he is finally able to secure it behind his ear, he is glaring spitefully at the passersby beyond the glass.

_They have no idea_, he thinks suddenly.

Of course, _he_ has no idea where the hell this stray thought has even come from, or what it might actually mean, but he feels this furious churning in his gut—a_ small, festering pit at the core of his being_—that screams this truth into his blood. _They have no fucking idea_, the voice repeats in his mind as he watches the early risers take on the beginnings of their conventional days, and he decides that he hates every single one of them.

He collapses onto a stool at the bar and spreads his elbows wide along the counter, and the heaviness of his skull only makes it all the easier for his head to drop into his hands. He does not know how long he sits like this, waiting in the stillness for the fading darkness to finally disappear—_or maybe the darkness is where he wants to stay, after all_—but all too soon he feels a hand on his shoulder. It is soft and small and warm, and for a moment he allows himself to hope, but this only makes the disappointment of reality all the more bitter—_and the shame all the more grating_—when he turns his head and finds that—_her eyes are the wrong color, and so is her hair, and_—it's just what's-her-face from a few weeks back. He catches her gaze for a moment, but turns away without a beat of hesitation as soon as recognition hits, scoffing under his breath as another_ here we go again_ rolls across his brain and _dammit, where the hell is Narook?_

"Tahno?" she whispers, and there is enough exaggerated concern in her voice to drown a saber-tooth moose-lion. "I _swore_ it was you through the window, but... baby, how are you?"

He bites his tongue and the taste of blood immediately lines his cheek. Tahno stares blankly at a pointless speck in the woodwork just to the left of his fingertips, and he tells her that he is positively _swell._ When he speaks, his voice slides into the air with blackened sarcasm, dripping with disdain with poorly-concealed acerbity.

If she notices, or if she cares, she doesn't let on. Instead, the next thing he knows is the sharp sound of her voice cutting directly into his ears, and the shrillness of it fills his head with an awful piercing sensation that leaves him disoriented. The hand on his shoulder is joined by another, as if he'd ordered a matching set, and without warning they begin to knead the monstrous knots embedded deep within the muscles near his spine. He arches his back away from her touch, shrugging her off with a callous brush of his hand, but she is still talking in his ear. Even through the squinting and the gritting of his teeth, the shrillness is too much to ignore entirely; her very presence is crawling up his skin like a rash, and it is mere moments before he tells her to get lost. She doesn't quite seem to get it, assuring him that she'll be back in town in a week or so with a forlorn look tossed strategically over her shoulder, and the blood is only getting thicker in his mouth as she strides back out into the blossoming sunlight.

His eyes drift to the mirror directly in his line of vision, flush against the wall behind the bar, and at the sight of his sallow skin and haggard face and matted hair, he tries to remember a time when he—_his life_—might have more closely resembled hell, but he's got nothing—_this is it—_and it is only with the slightest pause of indecision that Tahno reaches over the space between the bar and the mirror and yanks one of the cheap liquor bottles clear out of its display holder. With a less-than-steady dismount of his stool, Tahno sets his bare feet on the cold, solid wooden floor, and slips back up the stairs to his apartment, bottle in hand.

He does not emerge again.

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When Korra arrives a few hours later, she is surprised by the sight of so many customers filling up the room, happily chatting away until the space becomes a dull roar of cheer, and she is immediately struck with worry; Bolin and Mako _are_ supposedly regulars, after all, and though she's not sure what the hell it is that she and Tahno are doing, she knows that it is precarious enough already, and she doesn't want to mess it up with any further misunderstandings.

But she is even more surprised to find that Tahno is not already at their booth, waiting for her.

Korra goes to the counter to wish Narook a good morning and even dilly-dallies long enough to make polite small talk before she gets down to business. She knows that she's a little later than normal since she got caught up with Tenzin and training, so she asks if she's already missed him somehow... But Narook tells her that he hasn't seen Tahno all morning or early afternoon, and—like an electrical switch being flipped _on—_the worry she'd felt over running into her Fire Ferret boys evaporates in an instant, and instead she feels the creeping beginnings of a different kind of anxiety worming its way into her gut.

"You could take some food up to him, if you like," he says while passing off three or four full plates to another employee, and from the sounds of the kitchen beyond the tapestry, Korra can clearly see just how busy today's lunchtime is, despite the gloomy skies. She feels guilty for taking up Narook's time with her indecision, but she's already been on the receiving end of Tahno's foul-mood _I-don't-need-your-charity _wrath before, and she knows what little good it can do either of them. She's worried that maybe he's not awake yet. Or if he has yet to come down because he hasn't finished _entertaining _from the evening before, and although this rubs her the wrong way, it is nothing compared to the dread and curiosity she feels at the thought of him purposefully not coming down because he doesn't want to see her.

There are a million reasons why she doesn't think it's a good idea, but she's been going off of pure instinct for the entirety of this thing thus far and, with a strong nod that belies her inner turmoil, she decides to chance it. _It will be worth the trip._

Right?

Waiting for their food to come is nerve-wracking; she sits at the bar, and instead of spreading herself out comfortably like usual, she spends her time rapping her fingernails along the woodgrain, trying to take up as little space as possible. The ascent up the stairs is filled with a quiet sense of anticipation that is too raw and edgy to be typical, and she huffs out an irritated breath. _Stupid prima donna,_ she thinks, forcing a lightness into her mind's rambling, and feeling her shoulders relax. _He probably just hasn't gotten enough beauty rest or whatever. _She tells herself that this is just like any other visit, and when she knocks on his door and he doesn't immediately answer, she merely rolls her eyes and mutters, "Diva."

But the second knock sounds, and there is still no answer. Korra swallows, shifting her weight as she readjusts the handles of the to-go bag filled with food boxes, and just as thoughts about _breaking routine_ begin to stir, she hears rustling inside, and the door opens part way.

_Whoah_.

"What?" he snaps, and she realizes that she'd said that aloud without meaning to.

"You're looking pretty rough," she says candidly, taking in his ruffled clothes and tousled hair. But then she notices that the stiffness of his spine only worsens, like trying to tighten something that is already wound too tight, and—_has anyone ever told you that you need to relax a little?—_she backpedals as his deadpan glare slides across the air. Korra squints out a sheepish apology through a crooked smile. "Sorry," she mutters. "Still no filter. I've been trying to work on that."

He sighs, but relents. "What do you want, Avatar?"

Korra's brows draw together, but she tries not to let her surprise show, and instead she holds up the bag for him to see. "Narook said he hadn't seen you all day, so he cooked up some food."

He eyes her suspiciously. "And what, asked _you_ to be the new delivery girl?"

The surprise isn't so easy to hide this time, but she manages. "I offered," she shrugs, and dammit, this is not an appropriate time for her tone to sound so challenging.

"Whatever," he mutters, and Korra finds it strange that he still hasn't fully opened the door. "I don't need any looking after. If I was hungry, I would have come down and gotten it myself."

"Right," she says slowly, and her eyes fall back to his wrinkled clothes and mussed up hair. His eyes are a little hazy, like he's distracted, and it's obvious that the barely-open door is not an invitation inside, and that's when it occurs to her that maybe her earlier speculations about his hosting _company_ might not have been so far off the mark after all. _Oh. _

"Right," he echoes uncertainly, and the rigid set to his shoulders suddenly brings Korra's discomfort to a new level. "So, what's the deal?"

She clears her throat and begins to dig through the boxes. "Right. Just give me a second to separate mine, and I'll be off."

His brows draw in confusion as she paws through the extra packages of chopsticks and before he can think twice, the words are out of his mouth. "You're not staying?"

Korra pauses, cautiously blinking back up at him as he blinks down at her. "I don't want to interrupt," she tells him honestly.

But he grinds out a bitter laugh and opens the door wide. "Yeah, because my life is packed with such full-speed action kicks these days. Go ahead. Knock yourself out."

_Oh._

She follows him inside, discreetly checking over the admittedly cleaner apartment while sneaking glances at his turned back. It's odd, the way he carries himself; there is a tension in his shoulders that suggests the will of someone trying to act more at ease than they really are, and while the sight of skin and the tilt of his neck lances straight through the memories of someone she once shared a dance with, the reality is that there is a volcanic restlessness in his eyes, and _that, _there, is a bottle in his hand.

"Take a seat," he gestures to the couch in the small living area, and he steps into the kitchen as she settles into her cushion. Korra hears glasses clinking from around the corner, and she spends two seconds trying to figure out what she should be doing with her body—_with her hands_—when she decides that the safest course of action would be to start arranging the food that Narook made. The boxes are all open and she has already started to dig in when he appears around the bend and moves to offer her something.

"No, thanks," she says awkwardly, looking at the half-full glass held before her.

He gives her a look and extends his hand. "It's water."

_Oh._

"So," he drawls, sagging into the chair seat adjacent to the couch. "How is the outside world faring, anyway?"

He looks at her while she speaks, but the only thing he hears is a distant chatter; he observes the shapes made by her mouth, the lines drawn by her brows, the tale told by her hands, but he probably couldn't tell you what she was talking about if his life depended on it. Everything around him is a dull blur, and the indistinct ringing of the mock-silence presses against his ears like a wall of fog. His mind is simply blank.

It takes him a few minutes to realize that during the course of his slip, he had at some point raised his glass, and is now idly twirling the remaining water in slow, gentle circles. It is at the third spiral that his attention becomes fixed on the mark left along the rim of _her_ glass, on the impression made by the curve of her lips. His movements still, eyes glued to the lines of the patterns dotting the curve, and—_because he is just that pathetic, after all_—he remembers what it had felt like to kiss that mouth. He is struck by the rather ridiculous urge to reach out and touch the glass, to run his fingers across the cracks left by the moisture of her lips, and he thinks that if she had any idea just what kind of cracks were crawling through his mind, she would have left ages ago. The weight of the glass in his hand grows heavy again, and he sets it back on the table as he thinks back to all the other nameless faces that have come—_and come and come—_and gone. But while he'd had to all but drive the others away, he knew that Korra would be different. _She's stayed this long. But it's only a matter of time until she realizes that there's nothing else she can do. And then she'll leave._

His eyes slowly tear themselves away from the lines left on the glass, dragging themselves upward until they come to rest on the lips that made the mark—_lips that he remembers more clearly than any others, lips that he forgets just a little bit more with each passing day—_and he wonders if she's yet come to realize just how many women he has kissed—_bedded, touched, forgotten_—before her.

Tahno hasn't the slightest clue about her own level of experience, and he's not sure what he would make of it either way. He certainly hasn't ever kept his lifestyle a secret—_the booze, the sex, the life and nightlife of a Wolfbat—_and when it came to the morning afters, it's not like the women he's been with were ever in for a shock. _Not if they were smart, anyway_.

Speaking diplomatically, there were many in the city who _frowned_ upon his choices. Press reporters and scorned women alike openly accused him of debauchery on many fronts—_guilty as charged, your honor—_and endless deceit; but if they would only take a moment to really think, they would realize that he has been nothing but clear and upfront about his motives from the very beginning. His reputable prowess had often preceded him, but it's not like he hadn't made it a point from the very beginning to make known all of the other ways—_commitment, trust, fidelity, the usual—_in which he would inevitably disappoint.

_And it's not like they didn't come with their own disappointments either._

He takes a sip from his water, but the liquid has grown stale, and it leaves a dissatisfying taste in his mouth. As Korra takes a quiet bite of her noodles, he pretends not to notice her watchful eyes. His mind has been sent back in time, filing through stored-away pairs of eyes and lashes and mouths that had faded away through his burning wanderlust, suddenly remembering the feeling of getting lost in the dark hours of his seedy apartment under the sheets, or staying hidden in the shadows of some back hallway of some club with a name he couldn't care for, wasting away time in the showers of the training arena with a steady stream of water at his chest and a girl on her knees... Of course, it'd only taken him about a year after his first championship to realize that being even the top pro-bender in the city, and having all that came with it, amounted to absolutely nothing.

He'd been disillusioned at first, but by the year's end, he'd concluded that there was no point in being disappointed, because if this was supposed to be the top and he still wasn't feeling it, then what else was there? _And it had its perks. _Such fame and fortune hardly called for having to chase after women, which was something he certainly couldn't bring himself to complain about, but on the other hand, the prospect of finding a challenge had all but vanished overnight. And while he usually displayed at least two or three beautiful women hanging off of his arms each night, many of which were lucky enough to see it through to the end—_and usually beyond—_ he was never one to outwardly boast; the truth of the matter was that he was not the conqueror here, and when women are thoughtlessly throwing themselves at you from every angle, there is little pride in pretending as much. It hadn't taken him long to realize this, but once he did, it took him even less time to realize that _his _favor was the true conquest; his prize money, his body, his attention, but never him.

And frankly?

He didn't give a fuck.

But this morning's freak run-in downstairs with the girl whose name he still can't remember had drudged up such vivid memories of the _good old days_ and everything he thought he missed, and once again reality hit him square in the face. In many ways, nothing has changed for his hoards of followers. Even after being stripped of all that had defined his character for these last few years, he was still_ theirs_, and they'd flocked to him without hesitation; that night at the stadium saw no decline in women rushing to his side, nor did the night after that, and it was only on the fifth night of pity fucks and blackouts and waking up feeling no less damned than the night before that he realized that _this is just another trophy, isn't it?_ To be the one he calls on for aid, to be his pillar of strength, _to be the fixer_, it's all just another step up in their schemes, another notch on their proverbial belts, and perhaps now, he and his suffering are found even more valuable on their little hellish totem poles.

The thought sends a terrible itch down his spine, and just as he feels his teeth begin to grind, he can hear Korra's voice cutting through. "Man, are you even with me here?"

He sends her a sharp glare, daring her to question him, but she just looks confused, and maybe a little defiant, and maybe a little wary. He tries to imagine her aiming for any of the tactical advancement that he knows all too well in the lips of his followers, and the thought makes him sick, but almost at once he feels foolish, because he knows that the Avatar would never be capable of devising anything of the sort.

_This must be paranoia, _he thinks darkly. The calculation he envisions in her eyes is swept aside by the shining concern he sees instead, which might only be_ worse, _and he breathes, swallowing thickly against the dryness of his throat. He knows that Korra is not like the others, and that there is only misplaced kindness and useless noble intentions coursing through her blood this morning; and just like that, before Tahno is even fully aware of it, a burning question has entered his mind, and he has to know the answer.

"Your bloodbending," he says suddenly.

Korra's heart stops because they have been skirting the topic of bending since that night in the shower and _isn't this breaking the rules? _"What about it?" she asks hesitantly.

"You've mastered your training?"

"Well... it's complicated," she starts slowly, almost positive that she doesn't actually want to have this conversation. "I'd been taught that it was a forbidden technique even before I really knew what it was. I'd always imagined that I'd need to beg Sifu Katara to teach me."

His eyes narrow in confusion, and his half-shrug is scornful. "So, did you learn it or not?"

"I did," she says with with quiet strain, and her eyes are tight with memory. "My training started about a year or two ago, when I was fifteen. Lady Katara had been forced into learning it when she was twelve, and she said that she wanted to protect me from it as long as she could, but... anyway, on the night of a full moon, she told me the story of the woman who'd created it while imprisoned by the Fire Nation during the war, and how she'd used it against innocent people, before finally using it to turn Avatar Aang and his friends against one another." Korra bites the inside of her cheek, staring into his eyes in a careful way that only fuels the fire. "She made me promise that I would never use it. Not unless there wasn't any other choice."

"And have you?"

"There hasn't been a need," she says tightly.

His eyes narrow and then he scoffs. "Indeed."

A deep frown sets into the line of her mouth, and a ball of heat swells within her. Rising to her mentor's defense, she leans over her place at the table, resting heavily on her elbows, and with surging heat, she says, "Katara believes strongly in her ideals, and I stand by them." She leans closer, and her gaze is cold when she tells him, "Bloodbending is a forbidden technique for a reason."

But what she doesn't tell him is how much it still secretly thrills her.

While Katara had done all that she could to shield her from the terrors of her own element, there were some things that simply could not be avoided forever; before even considering the aspects of physical training, Katara tried to prepare Korra for the emotional toil that could arise from such power. After the story of Hama, Katara explained the aftermath of using the technique while chasing after her mother's murderer, and she spared no unpleasant detail: the primal feelings of loss and rage and vengeance that overtook her, the grim _satisfaction_, the pure fulfillment of controlling such power and, of course, the terrible guilt that had washed over her once the war was over. A strong, proud and righteous warrior, Katara may be, but it still took her many years to grapple with her young and rash decisions.

_It's okay to want to get lost in it, _she had quietly admitted under the light of the full moon. _It's in our nature. But you are stronger than that, Korra; do not forget. __You__ are in control of your bending. But do not be greedy, and do not take your gift for granted. Water is the element of change and, like everything else in life, it is a matter of push and pull._

Korra heard these words—_she believed them, she held them in her heart, she breathed them—_but even still, it is not so easy to reconcile the warnings that Katara had offered with the urges she feels in her soul, and she imagined that it might even prove more challenging for her than it did for her mentor. To feel such a direct connection with physical _life_ itself, the feeling of understanding and experiencing the sensation of another body across time and space, the sensation of having two minds, two joined forces—_two souls?—_directing one body... _How can I not be drawn to that?_

But these thoughts would no doubt make Katara—sweet and fierce and understanding Katara—look at her with disappointment and regret, no doubt seeing all of her own mistakes replayed in this new life, and Korra would never want such a thing for her. So Korra has kept this a dirty little secret for years; she doesn't tell anyone, trying hard to play the good and committed Avatar, doing all she genuinely can to bring balance and peace to the world, and all the while she thinks that there must be something just a little wicked within her.

"Why bother teaching something that you will only forbid later?" he scoffs again. She is broken from her reverie to find him grimacing over another sip of water, sucking his teeth with furious disapproval as he stares down into the shallow glass.

"She taught me out of necessity," Korra insists, feeling her voice drop low and strained. "The only reason I ever learned at all was because she and Avatar Aang always believed that when such evils exist in the world, the only thing worse than perpetuating them would be to leave the young unprepared for them."

"Yeah... That's a lovely sentiment and all, but look at it straight, _Uh-vatar_," he drawls, and dammit, that is such a stupid nickname that it shouldn't even be in the realm of _capable of evoking emotion,_ but it suddenly grates straight down her spine like barbed wire. "You're seriously telling me that you've learned it, you've practiced it, but you've never used it?"

"Not since my last training session with Katara," she says staunchly, tilting her chin a little higher as she crosses her arms.

"That is hardly _using_ it in the first place."

"Oh, yeah? And what about you?" she demands, and she can practically feel the sparks exploding in her eyes. "You talk an awful lot of talk for someone who isn't even capable of it anymore."

He doesn't answer her. She keeps her gaze steady, but Korra feels her misstep all too fully. She wonders how she might be able to _take it back_, but then wonders if that's something she's really even responsible for. Tahno finishes off the last gulp of his drink, and Korra still has no solution when he sets the empty glass between them.

"Will you use it against Amon?"

She falters again, and this time it flickers across her face. It occurs to her how wrong this is, how they shouldn't be discussing this, but more disturbingly, how she could have expected in the first place not to have to deal with this part of her life on these mornings with him, over delicious breakfast noodles and mediocre tea. He is not a shield, and this building is not her fortress—_she knows what a fortress is, knows it like the cold, lonely wisps of her breath on a freezing, arctic day—_and she would do well to remember that her troubles still exist outside of this room. Just because she allows herself to get caught up in his problems—_and they're hers too, in a way, but perhaps that is stretching it, and maybe what she is really doing is getting the two confused, but_—it doesn't mean that she can forget about her own. Whether she has been hiding from them or intertwining them with his, or both, it is inexcusable, and it isn't safe. It's not what she's supposed to do, and she is so _sick _and tired suddenly, because she is so aware of all the things that she is not supposed to do, but knows close to nothing about what she _is _supposed to do.

"It... hasn't been discussed as an option," she manages, still reeling with the uncertainty of how to respond.

His eyes are critical, and her defenses rebuild. "Are the others not aware that you can do it? Your airbending master? The Council?"

"Not everyone."

"But some _are_."

"Yes," she sighs heavily, already tired of this conversation and growing more uncomfortable with each passing moment.

"So the decision to not utilize it, even for the benefit and safety of with those fighting with you—against him—is solely yours."

"I will find another way to take him down," she repeats, voice solid. "I promised Katara."

"And what good will that promise do you when you are held captive and tortured?"

She feels the air fill her lungs, but it is a meager, trickling thing, and her heart hammers in her chest as she stares him down. The crease between her brows deepens with aggravation, and still, her blood pounds in her ears because—_she isn't ready, she isn't—_this is not what she wants to be thinking about, and this is the last thing she wants to hear. Especially when he's right.

Especially when she already knows.

"Face it, Avatar. You're not prepared."

"I'm not stupid," she spits, and the glasses rattle over his table from the force of her fist into the wood. "You think I don't know what I'm getting myself into?"

"I think your short-sightedness has made you blind," he hisses, and she can feel the harshness of his breath in her face. She doesn't remember standing, couldn't say who it was that moved upward first, but her fists are tight and shaking, and if anyone's going to throw the first hit, it will sure as hell be her. "_You_ have the power you need, and you refuse to consider it. Without that option, you haven't the slightest clue as to how to deal with what you're up against," his eyes narrow, and his words twist in her gut like a knife. "You're going to walk straight into his trap, and then what?"

They are less than inches apart, ire clashing with ire, and as she sees the fury and the resentment flood Tahno's eyes, she remembers how she did exactly _just_ that; she can still feel the firm hold of rough fingers on her face. They are scarred and calloused and strong, and the mere thought of them sends fierce tremor all down her spine. A puff of air brushes across her face, and for a disorienting moment, the memory is real, and it is _his_ breath reaching across her cheeks once more. She blinks, and the mask vanishes before her eyes. When she regains her senses, she sees Tahno's eyes watching her carefully, but she can still feel her skin crawling.

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_And then what?_

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In a flash of movement, the contact is broken, and Korra is bustling about, readying her things. For a stunned moment, Tahno can only watch her—_try to collect herself—_but then the rigidity of his spine worsens and his blood pours hot through his veins.

"Where are you going?" he asks when she has reached the door, and he hates the sudden rasp of his voice. _It's the alcohol._ She pauses in the frame, fingers lingering on the handle, and he is caught off guard once more because _Korra, the fighter_ is back in place and he'd had no idea that he'd even been looking for any other until this moment.

"Thanks for the input, pretty boy," she says evenly, and the small hairs on his arms raise because her eyes are dark and blank and cold. "But I think I've got it covered from here."

The door offers only a soft _click_ as it closes behind her.

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Narook glances his way not long after, eyeing the bottle in his hand as he reaches for the door to the stairs that lead _up_.

"Satisfied yet?" he calls out quietly from the bar, and in this moment, Tahno could care less for his patronly tone.

_Never_.

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That night Tahno is haunted by dreams from dusk 'til dawn. It seems that he has nowhere left to hide, for even the alcohol can't save him now.

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And for the first time in many weeks,

a wall shifts and falls, and his nights are plagued by blue eyes once more.

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* * *

**NEXT INSTALLMENT:**

Arc II : **letting go** – _giving in  
_


	4. Arc II : letting go : giving in

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Yay, Bryke. **  
**

**Author's Notes:** _6/21/12_. For any of my _Monstrosity_ readers out there—please don't kill me. D: I know I totally just whipped out 40,000+ words for _Legend of Korra_ in three and a half weeks but have yet to even touch my WIP draft for the next _Monstrosity_ chapter, but DO NOT FRET. I will be back in the Dramione action soon! (Eventually.)

**THIS IS PART 4 of 15(?): **Aaaaaand this installment I'd hoped for ended up being, yet again, too long. This installment is nearly 8,000 words, so I've decided to split this from the next part. On the bright side, since the next part (Arc II: **letting go** – _dirty little secrets_) is almost done already, it should be out before the Korra finale! I expect that _**this fic will be composed of somewhere around fifteen parts**_. My actual plan was for nine or ten, but I suspect that I'll probably end up dividing up another installment (again). It really just depends on how I space it all out. Still trying to finish it all up before July 5th! We shall see...

**ABOUT THE RATING:** And now we are slowly reaching the brunt of what was intended for PART II of _but we're still so cold_. (Before I came to my senses and realized that YOU CANNOT FIT ALL THIS INTO A TWO-SHOT, HELLO.) _**Please keep in mind that this is rated M for language and sensuality**__. _

"**BREAK THE ICE" SERIES FANART:** I've been meaning to post this, but FFNET's prohibition of all internal links has kind of put a damper on my plans. :( I've decided to go ahead and post the link here because these fanart pieces are lovely and deserve to be shared! I've collected quite a few, and you can find the links and thumbnails on my public livejournal post. Another huge thank you to **ch4rmsing**, **happyzuko**, **Parrot4a**, **pennyofthewild**, **eternaldreamland**, and **sophatizer**!

therentyoupay. livejournal . com

/ 31647. html

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: **"Wonderful Life" by The Hurts (speaking of Dramione—this is one of my favorite songs for them), "Broken" by Lifehouse, "Closer" by Anberlin, and "Let Go" by Frou Frou (again).

**Beta'd **by the glorious **ebonyquill**. :) Don't know what I'd do without her and her insightful feedback. Both of us are quite sure that she's probably the first person to ever beta a fic via iPhone e-mail while at an all-day music festival in near-hellish heat, so please send plenty of kudos and good vibes her way!

* * *

**letting go**

_giving in_

* * *

She huffs out a breath, watching as the water vapors curl in the early morning air, and feels an irrational pang of jealousy. _That's probably as close to airbending as I'll get for awhile. _

Korra isn't cold, but she hugs her knees more tightly, anyway. It's peaceful at the gazebo on the northernmost part of the island, where she's afforded a stunning view of the bay whose name she never learned, and the great metropolis housed behind it, the city that has been both such a blessing and a curse to her these past few weeks. From this viewpoint, she can see the tall tower of the city hall, home of they city's protectors, and a bitter taste coats her mouth.

She leans to the side, spitting into the grass—_crap, that's probably part of the new sacred meditation site or something, the monks are going to kill me_—and settles back into the wood post at her back, letting her legs stretch out along the railing on which she sits. Upon further consideration, Korra supposes that it's not _entirely_ Tarrlok's fault that he's such an arrogant scumbag; perhaps it's just the way he was raised? Granted, it's still no excuse, but... _I bet he was probably brought up by one of the more conservative families of the North or something... but I'll have to look into it. I wonder if Tenzin knows where—_

A noise sounds from down below at the bottom of the hill, and Korra tenses immediately, flames bursting to life. She listens carefully, and all of her senses are alert and ready, but it is wasted, because Korra can already see the apologetic wave of one of the older members of the Order from behind a rather robust fern. Korra's wave is nothing more than a lazy flick of the wrist, and then she is watching the flora settle back into place as the Order member resumes his patrol. She supposes she shouldn't be feeling so irritated—_they're just trying to protect me_—but it's hard when—_she still feels so isolated and pressured and scrutinized, and it seems like nothing is ever going to come easy to her_—they're _everywhere._

She sighs, suddenly feeling tired, and despite the morning calm, she wishes she had stayed in bed for the extra hour that she thought she didn't need. It's not like she's even directly participated in the Task Force in a while, due to her probending obligations, and it's not like she'd really even heard anything about Amon in particular over the last few weeks... _But I'm still so damn jumpy._

Granted, she hasn't escaped Tarrlok's attention entirely; since she no longer has probending to fall back on now, Tarrlok visits as often as he can... at least, when Tenzin can't find a decent enough excuse to bar him entrance into his home. She listens to plan after plan, report after report, and it _sounds _like it's all some kind of progress, she can't help but feel like—_there's something he's not telling her_—there is something _else _she should be doing. Something _more_.

_Something a little less involved with Mr. Two-Face Weasel-Rat._

She hates feeling like this, having these antagonistic thoughts about someone who calls himself her supporter, because she already has so few allies these days, and making enemies with someone like Tarrlok is _so_ not on her list of things she'd like to do. But he's so pushy and she's getting so sick of hearing him tell others only what they want to hear. They are already on two separate paths, and as these too-quiet days pass, she feels their agendas diverging farther and farther away.

_Face it, Avatar._

"Shut up," she whispers into the cold, and she slumps farther down against the wood as her brows draw together. Of course, it doesn't actually work, because she can still hear the voices no matter what she tries; sometimes it's Tarrlok's, occasionally it's Tenzin's, or the White Lotus leader's, or Beifong's, or Tahno's, or _his—_and she hates to admit it, but more often than not, the voice is Tahno's.

And it's usually right.

It's been three days, and since then she's tried to think about what he'd said to her about bloodbending—_haven't been able to __stop__ thinking about it, more like_—and she's _tried_ so hard to look at it with an open mind. _Believe me, I want to._ She gets that there are different ways of looking at this art and that there are many who choose to interpret the gifts from the spirits differently, but she _knows _Katara, and she trusts her, and _hey, this is a tricky topic anyway_, and _I'm allowed to be_ _conflicted_, _all right_? But even so, she's not about to change her mind; a bloodbender isn't the kind of Avatar she wants to be known for. And then a thought occurs to her. _What __do__ I want to be known for?_

When the historians go to scribble her life history into those school textbooks, she wonders... what would end up becoming the _Legend of Korra_?

_You're not prepared._

"Ugh," she groans furiously, stuffing her hands into her pockets. She's never been one for the philosophical side of life, and all of these unanswered questions—_reminders of just how little she knows—_are giving her a monstrous headache. And what's worse is that these questions are bringing up even _more _questions, like _where in this world am I going to find a teacher capable or willing to teach me everything I need to know_? And on that note, what the _hell _is Aang trying to tell her?

For the past few days, she's been pretty adamant about _not _thinking about Tahno, but of course it's futile, because she's done nothing but think about that conversation-come-interrogation that took place in his living room, and one of the things that gets her the most is how _convinced_ she was of her ideals when she told them to him, how sure she was in the words of Katara and her mentors and her predecessor and—

Now she isn't so sure.

She'd been thinking a lot about something she'd said to Tahno in particular, the part about leaving the young unprepared for the evils of thew world—_Katara's words, Aang's words, or so she's been told_—and then _voila, _up spring the beginnings of resentment.

She needs to make her own path, yeah, she knows that—but isn't it already hard enough when she has to fill the shoes of someone who mastered his three remaining elements _and_ defeated the Fire Lord _and_ created a brand new form of energy bending _and _ended the war _and_ saved the world—all in less than a year? When he was _twelve_?

_I'm not Aang, _she thinks to herself.

Is there not some guide _out there somewhere_ that will teach her how to be the avatar? If the universe expects _this much_ from her, the least they could do is give her a manual, right? Katara told her years ago that Aang had been sometimes visited by Avatar Roku... And that Aang had eventually connected with his Avatar spirit so thoroughly that he was able to look within himself and access the previous Avatars on command.

_As if I didn't already have enough to live up to, _she thinks bitterly.

She's getting more and more frustrated that she can't decipher those messages from her past lives, and the weight of the world is getting heavier and heavier, and she's ever growing more and more irritated with Tarrlok, and don't even get her started on _Tahno—_

_I'm slipping._

She stills.

And then her breath twists through the air like memories on a wave, and as sights and sounds of nights long past creep into her blood, she thinks that, just maybe, _I might be slipping, too._

She doesn't see Mako until he's right beside her.

"Hey," he nearly chirps, and the sound cuts straight through her chest like a lightning bolt. "Whoah, sorry."

The panting isn't really helping any, so she focuses on a rather long, deep breath, and rights herself from where she almost fell off the ledge. "S'okay," she manages breathily. "Wow... that was embarrassing."

"You all right?"

"Yeah, you just caught me in the middle of... something. I should have been paying better attention."

His brows knit themselves into a heavy crease, and Korra has to stare at her wrist guard to keep from rolling her eyes. "Imagine what would have happened if it'd been an Equalist," he nearly scolds. "It's not safe for you to let your guard down when—"

"So," she interrupts firmly but good-naturedly, and he swallows his words with an acquiescent frown. Her breathing has returned to normal, but her heartbeat has not, so she smiles slightly, trying to remain casual. "Long time, no see. What's up?"

She sends him a sheepish smile, suddenly relaxed now that the surge of adrenaline has passed through her system, and that's when she notices how embarrassed _he's _looking all of a sudden. She watches him awkwardly shift his weight about, and sees that his hands are stuffed in his trench pockets and that his jaw is tight.

"You can sit down if you like," she nods to the railing space by her feet. "There's plenty of room."

"Nah," he says as he gives a noncommittal shrug, and she tries not to feel disappointed. "Just out for a morning walk."

"Oh," she says, with much less brightness than before, and dammit, she thought she was getting _better_ at this hiding her feelings stuff. "Okay." But then she catches the jittery twitch of the muscles at his shoulders, and a curious brow rises. _Okay_?

"It is a pretty cool view," Mako admits quietly, his eyes trained on the stadium.

"It's beautiful," she agrees, staring at the now lifeless arena. "I would look out over the water at night and see it all lit up, and think of how I used to dream about it when I was a kid. From the first day I got here, I'd stare at it every night, until I finally fell asleep."

It took her a minute to notice that he hadn't responded, and when she looked back to him, Korra realized that he'd been watching her the whole time. A light blush crept across her cheeks and, suddenly feeling like she'd said too much, she hastily adds, "But I guess you wouldn't really know, seeing how you actually lived there and all."

"Well... I've done my fair share of staring out across the harbor, too."

Korra regards him skeptically. "What? At Air Temple Island? I mean, yeah, it's wonderful, but I hardly think it compares."

"I don't know about that," he gives her a sly smile. "There's a lot about the view over here to appreciate, too."

Her heart skips at the look in his eyes— _Is he... Is he flirting with me right now?—_and for a giddy moment, she is blown by how _easy _this feels, but then ever-reliable reality swoops back in, as does the doubt and the insecurity and the remembrance of a certain-someone-who, and her hope crumbles.

Her words must have been embossed across her forehead, because he suddenly clears his throat and fixates his stare on the bay. "You know, Korra, I've... I've been meaning to tell you something."

Her head snaps up, perhaps a bit more quickly than is dignified, and she knows she's going to have a crick in it later. "Yeah?"

"Uhh, yeah," he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, and he is so stiff that she's positive she'd break him in two with a single kick. "You know, about how great it is for Tenzin and his family to put us up like this. Bolin and I really do appreciate you talking to him about it. And Asami, too."

_Oh._

"Right," she nods. "Of course. Tenzin would never turn his back on people who need him. And I mean, after all you've been through... How is Asami doing, by the way?"

"Asami?"

_Yeah, your girlfriend, remember? _Korra thinks as a heavy pressure settles over her chest, and—_oh, look, just another dead weight to carry, well, that's quite all right, go ahead, pile it on, why not just add a little more? _He doesn't response as quickly this time and she dips her head, trying to catch his eye, and trying to rid herself of her sour mood. _Shut up, Korra, not everything is about you._

"She's... doing as well as she can, I guess. We've tried talking about it, but it's still too soon."

Korra gives a gentle nod. "I can imagine," she says softly, because she doesn't know what else to say. But then she is bombarded with visions of Tonraq and learning how to fish and pillow fight alliances and storytelling by the hut fire with roasted sweets and she knows that, actually, she _couldn't_ imagine it if she tried. She smiles, but she doesn't have to see it to know that it's broken. "It's good that she has you, at least."

But something in her words has shaken him.

"Look, Korra," he says, spinning toward her, and they are mid-conversation but the abrupt way the words have spilled out into the air leaves her on edge. "That's not all I want to say. It's just that, you know, things really aren't getting any simpler, and and and it's not like I don't appreciate everything that you've done for us, and—and you know that I care about you, right?"

Korra blinks, and she tries to inhale, but the breath won't come. "Mako—"

"Because I do," he presses. "I _do_, but it's just that—"

"Mako," Korra interrupts, because she knows where this is going, and she _can't_ hear anymore right now. She feels like she should feel happier, but _he is still with Asami, _and instead she feels weary. "It's okay. I get it."

Mako looks disappointed, and not particularly relieved. "Bolin has always been so much better at this stuff."

Korra releases a small laugh, grateful for the opportunity to lighten the moment, and looks up at him warmly. She hopes he understands what she means when she says, "I guess you didn't do such a bad job taking care of him?"

They share a knowing smile—_no, no, no, stop it, not again, _her mind cries—and then Mako releases a sigh and looks back toward the house. "I should get going. Pema told me that she wants to start experimenting with breakfast creme brûlées."

Despite her inner tension, the idea of Mako baking in the kitchen is so hilariously fitting that she can't help but laugh aloud. "All right. Better not keep the pregnant lady waiting, then."

He cracks another smile and—_shit, stop it, enough_—heads toward the main branch, hands stuffed in his coat pockets with a carelessness that make her insides ache. But just as she leans back into the woodwork, he turns, and calls out.

"Hey, Korra."

She tenses, but this time her guard has not been let down. Korra raises her head, looking toward where he stands across the long, narrow stone path.

"I'm sorry."

His expression is too far away to be seen clearly, but Korra's eyes widen. She expects there to be more, but this is all he says, and then he is turning away. She has half a mind to race after him and demand _what for?_ but he is already gone and she's still too surprised to go seek any elaboration, so she watches his retreating back finish the journey to the kitchens until he vanishes from her sight completely. And then she is sliding all the way down onto the railing until she is completely parallel with the woodwork.

Maybe he's finally trying to make up for his rather dismal apology on the airship? About not believing her and accusing her of going after Hiroshi out of jealousy over Asami? Her gut churns at the mere memory. Or maybe he's sorry for his overall behavior? Spirits knew he hadn't exactly been the most _considerate_ guy on the island lately. Or maybe he's just apologizing in general for life's shitty timing and terrible sense of humor.

Whatever the reason, Korra knows that it doesn't excuse _everything_... not how he's been been acting or how he's treated everyone—_does Asami even __know__ that we kissed?—_but her headache is back, and she figures that this is the best it's going to get for now. Besides. She has the feeling that he wouldn't have offered an explanation, even if she'd asked.

_Not yet, anyway._

"At least he apologized," she whispers to herself, and her eyes fall to the waves beyond the shore.

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But by lunchtime she's already turned the wrong corner at the wrong place at the wrong time, and has accidentally caught a glance of them sharing a rather passionate kiss in the gardens.

As she slips away unnoticed, swallowing a lump in her throat that could very well be her heart,  
Korra thinks that though he might actually be sorry... he really can't be _that_ sorry at all.

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He flips a page and the crisp sound of fresh newsprint crackles through the air.

Narook looks up from his spot a few feet down the bar, wordlessly casting a speculative glance at his only tenant. For a half an hour now he's been carefully brushing his cloth over the glasses until each one is shining and bright, trying to stay productive in the undeniable lull that the rainstorm has brought upon them, all the while listening to the gusty sighs from figure on the nearby stool. He's allowed Tahno his privacy, saying nothing as he watches his impatient eyes rove over the articles held before him, but Narook doesn't miss any of the quick glimpses toward the old clock on the wall, which now reads eleven hours _too late_. Tahno is nearing the back of the newspaper and, with a frustrated huff, he whips back another page.

It's been four days, and his disappointment is nearly tangible.

"I don't need to tell you that if there were any word about Amon, it'd be on the front," Narook says in an old, wizened voice.

"Then don't," Tahno drawls, and his eyes never wander from the page.

Narook finishes his last glass, and slips the cloth over a rack near his waist to dry. Right before he disappears behind the kitchen's tapestry, he turns back, landing his only customer with a heavy, almost apologetic stare. "The same goes for _her_."

There is a heavy pause, but Tahno's eyes slowly drag themselves upward; the scowl that lingers there has never had much of an effect on Narook, but the fierce expectation he sees within the young man's eyes _does_, and it is enough to elicit a sigh from his weary lungs. _So young and already so old_.

"She's not in there today," Narook explains, and though his voice is still just as gruff as ever, his eyes soften. "I've already checked."

Tahno watches the old man dip behind the curtain with narrowed eyes, and as the downpour drowns out the meager sounds of humanity beyond the window shutters, his frown deepens. He folds the newspaper without a second glance, and tosses it into the waste bin behind the counter.

He tells himself that she wasn't what he was looking for, and that the old man shouldn't just _assume_, but it's been four days, and the nightmares—_blue eyes, repeat, repeat, repeat_—are only getting worse.

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"Stupid," she spits under her breath, frowning in the moonlight that filters through her bedroom window. "Why the hell didn't you think of that _earlier_?"

Her parting words have been gnawing on her for days straight, but it's only this evening that she's finally allowed herself to really look back on it all, to examine it like collection of scraped away scabs that she'd finally decided she wasn't going to mindlessly pick at anymore. She _should_ have left his apartment by saying something about already having a set of advisors who have far more knowledge and experience and sound advice than _he_ does, and that she wasn't going to take tactical advice from a drunken narcissistic-turned-misanthropic playboy, but the truth is that she doesn't trust most of the people she is supposed to; her only real faith rests in the too-patient Tenzin, the begrudging Lin Beifong, and now... _him_.

Maybe.

His words have planted a seed in her mind and, without her permission, wildly, it has started to grow.

"Just like before," she whispers to the empty bedroom, and she falls back down against the pillows, hair spaying out along the wrinkles in the cotton.

_A dance is just a dance._

It's been a week since that afternoon in his apartment, and she's running out of excuses not to think about him.

And Yue forgive her, but she _misses_ what they'd had. The routine, the distraction, the comfortable silences with Narook, the banter and insults and the reminders that _he is going to be okay, after all, _but she can't go back. She just can't. There is too much at stake, she tells herself, too much to lose, too much likelihood that she will get _too _close—_again again again_—and she's not about to put herself into any more situations that will only end up getting her even more hurt than before.

But Korra sighs as she tangles her fingers into the loose strands of hair at her scalp, and it is no surprise when her imagination comes to light—_she would never have expected such heat—_and her breathing catches, just so.

It's been a week and, if she's being quite honest with herself, she's not sure how much longer she's going to last.

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"Fucking faucet," he mutters, pounding his fist into the metal piece that's stuck and lodged on what's no doubt some decade-old grime. He doesn't know how much longer he'll have before the water goes out again, and he'll be damned if he doesn't get in a decent late night shower before it dies.

The heel of his palm presses down and at last, it gives. The water comes churning out in glorious cascades; it's merely a soft stream at first, but eventually flows into a downpour of pressurized luxury that Tahno had thought for sure he'd never again receive in this little hell hole. Not wanting to waste a drop more, he tears off his pants, cursing as he struggles to disentangle one ankle from a pant leg, and throws them to the floor without care for where they fall. Tahno hastily steps behind the curtain into the stream, and all at once, his body relaxes.

It's been a week and a half since she left, and he's running out of reasons for why it'd be better if she stayed away.

Tahno knows that he doesn't have much time, so taking care of his hair and the dirt on his skin is first priority, but once he's finished, he sags against the tiled wall, and the fighting rush that of energy that had fueled his earlier haste simply leaves him in one heavy breath.

How long has it been since that night in the stadium? Weeks? Has it been a full month yet? For someone so obsessed with watching the clock, he's lost all real track of time; in trying to live moment by moment, in trying to ignore the customary facets of daily living, he has been hiding away here in this barren apartment like a recluse, with only an occasional trip downstairs—_to see if she's come back—_to let Narook know he's still kicking, or for food. He doesn't even bother with the side trips to the dumpster anymore.

But while his days are painfully predictable, his nights are haunted by endless guessing games. What's in store for him this time? What kind of nightmare would he have tonight? Perhaps it will be another reflection on his pathetic attempts to regain a semblance of normalcy, or an encore of the taunting visions of the _what ifs_ that torment his less fortunate days. Maybe he'll get lucky and be blessed with a strike of consistency by receiving a visit from the old favorite, in which—_here it comes—_he loses everything. What could it be said about him, he wonders, that this hellish dream is preferable to the others... to the ones in which the water speaks to him, just like it used to, in which it responds to his beck and call and—_and it's a little like the way he used to live his life, isn't it?_—only to find that the dream ends with things as they are now, in which the water sleeps, even as it moves, and his broken cries of _but how can water sleep? _are lost in the distant echoes of his lonely mind.

All this time he'd been thinking that it was the alcohol that had been keeping the insanity at bay. And, he'll admit, it might have actually been for a time.

At first.

But the tile is cold at his back, and it is getting harder to ignore the truth. The water drips into his eyes but he doesn't care, and despite the sting, he barely blinks them away. He knows what happens if he closes his eyes for too long; it's a world of darkness, and then she is there, an ever-changing constant in his too-constant world, and depending on the day or the hour, she is snarling at him, or smiling, or laughing, and all of it sends a terrible ache through him. It's like he's replaced her for the alcohol, traded one drug for another, and he resents her for it, but he's in withdrawal, and when he lets the realization that _he wants her_ rush across his mind, it's not a game, it's a debilitating need.

Memories swarm before his eyes—hair wild and twisted along his pillow, the thoughtful bite of a lower lip, the feeling of a delicate ribcage beneath his fingertips as they twist across the floor—and he won't stand for her pity, but it's the only thing that kept her coming back, isn't it? That feeling of guilt that she harbors toward what's happened to him, that feeling of responsibility as the unfulfilled Avatar, the savior who let yet another victim fall to Amon's cause, that's what was _really_ driving her here. He swallows a lump in his throat, tries to cough away whatever it is that tightens his airways, but it's all in his mind; he wants her back, and he vows that if she does—_if she does_—he'll never relinquish that power; he doesn't blame her for what happened, but he'll never let her know.

Without any of the weight of the blame to hold her down, she'd have nothing keeping her from drifting away.

Tahno raises his hands to his scalp, wanting to brush back the heavy wet strands through long fingers, but instead they come to rest flat against the cool wall. He drags an idle finger along the lines between the tiles and allows himself to consider where she might be, what she might be doing, in this moment. She is the Avatar and, unlike him, there are things beyond these walls that tether her to the outside world, and he's never really given serious thought to all that might mean until now. He rarely calls her anything _but_ Avatar, and at first it was because_ there has never been any point in trying to remember names_, but it's only now, long after the habit has stuck, that he realizes just how little her being the Avatar means to him. To him, she has always been, first and foremost: _Korra_.

In the shady lighting of the downstairs bar on that first night he'd approached her, she'd been little more than an interesting prospect, an amateur with a tight body hidden beneath too many layers, a decent face with a fancy title, and an unexpected twist of blue eyes. While plotting out his strategy at the Festival of the Moon, she was simply a breath of fresh air, a long-awaited challenge, but after the dance—those few precious minutes with her writhing and breathing and twisting under his willing hands—the _Korra_ of his mind became dizzying images of the curve of her lips, the swell of her heaving chest, the flat of a smooth stomach flexing beneath his splayed fingers, the feel of her brushing against him. In the days leading up to the match _Korra_ had become his _opponent, _a real one, and his weakness and—

And now?

He thinks of _Korra_, and he sees an eagerness in her eyes to please, a breath to steady herself, a not-so-hidden smile as she laughs at something inappropriately funny at his expense. He remembers a terrible habit of pointing with her chopsticks and talking with her mouth full and leaning her elbows on the table. He hears an astoundingly creative curse muttered loud enough and forcefully enough to offend more than a few neighboring customers on the other side of their protective wall, and he hears a sigh when she thinks he isn't paying attention. He remembers the crooked line of her smirk and the jut of her pout and the tell-tale slant of her skeptical brow, and he's back to remembering the _looks_ and the concern and the eyes full of promise as she sits in the space across from him, as she pushes him down to the bed, as she curls against his chest, as she sways her body down against him, as she smoothes his hair away from his face, and as a jolt courses through him, he is startled to find that over the course of his disorienting thoughts, his hand has moved of its own accord, and he is already hard.

His head slams back against the tile, but it does him no good, because the images are already there, and they are here to stay—_even if she isn't. _For a moment he considers turning on the cold water, to end it now before he does something he may regret later, but it is easier said than done. A soft gasp is released into the water as his fingers brush against himself and he waits, waging war with logic and loneliness and the fact that _she may never come back_. She may never look at him that way again, and it occurs to him... So what if she's only hung around to ease her guilt? So _what_ if she's just been using him all along as a distraction for her own issues? Or as an interim _companion_ for that shit firebender? Did it really matter if she was there for _him, _as long as she was there?

_Like you didn't have your own motives_, his mind taunts spitefully.

And it is at this moment, alone in the fog of the shower, standing in the very spot of their first and last and only kiss, with his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, itching to _give in_, and his mind full of Korra, it is at this moment that he decides _he doesn't care anymore_.

"Fuck it," he grinds out, giving a long stroke.

_No one has to know_.

And as he surrenders to the memories, relaxes into the fantasies, he imagines the touch to be softer, smoother, less certain, and as a groan drifts out into the steam and his eyes roll back, he knows it won't last, that it won't be long before it's over. But time is something that he's got only too much of, and he is determined to ride this feeling all night, long after the water runs cold, after the water runs out completely.

"_Korra_," he spits, and the coils wind tight within him.

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It's been a week and a half, and there's really no denying it now.

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It's official.

She's sick of Tarrlok.

There aren't many people in this world who she detests, but she's almost certain that Tarrlok is one of them. Not even _Amon_ has garnered this much loathing; she fears Amon, is _threatened _by him, but she is also fascinated by him and his story, and in a convoluted way that she's not even entirely sure she understands herself, she might even respect him. She'd never agree with his ideals or his means, but he is a man with purpose, and sometimes, that's more than she can even say about herself.

But _Tarrlok!_ She hadn't realized just how many layers of _despicable _a single person could be, but with his help, she is discovering more and more each day. She wants to talk to somebody about this, but Tenzin already has his own problems, and she'll admit it, he's already a little biased as it is... What she _really_ wants is to tell someone who doesn't already have any preconceived notions, someone with a clean slate who can listen objectively and give sound advice. And while she trusts Tenzin's judgment, she doesn't want to have to rely on him for _everything_. He already has a family to support and a city to run and a pregnant wife to watch after—_and maybe an ex-girlfriend to conciliate?—_and he doesn't need her running off to him for every issue that stumbles her way. So, as always, she's back to where she first started on day one in this city: alone. Because who is left for her to turn to?

Mako? Bolin? Asami? _Yeah, like things aren't already complicated enough as it is_. Naga is a great listener, but that only does so much. She's already tried out the airbending girls, but she's pretty sure she'd need a translator for any future advice they'd try to give her, and she doesn't have easy access to those kinds of resources.

But really. When it comes down to it... what kind of support system does she have?

Thanks to an unexpected favor by Beifong—_and a whim completely unknown to Tarrlok and Chief Saikhan_—Korra has spent the entire afternoon trying to look into some files at the police station. She knows she's only got a little time left before she has to put everything back in order and slip back out unnoticed, but she keeps getting distracted by the stupidest things: like how little she likes the Task Force instigator or how much she misses home and how badly she wants Narook's freshly-made sea prunes, for example. And there is another nagging voice ringing in the back of her mind, a never-ending string of memories that has been a sing-song medley of her miserable loneliness for days, but she reminds herself that she is supposed to be working and—_don't think about him, don't think about him, you're not safe here, and whatever, you shouldn't be thinking about him, anyway, no matter where you are._

She inhales a deep breath, forcing her eyes to remain focused as she scans the documents before her, looking for _something_ that will tell her more about what happened that night in the stadium. It seemed like a good idea when it first occurred to her, and when Beifong offered her the boon and gave her the spare keys, it seemed like it was too good to be true; now she realizes that this was probably the worst task she could have given herself, because instead of the newspaper clippings and typed letters and flowing signatures—_and __helpful__ leads, please and thank you_—all she sees are her failures and her guilt and her regrets laid out, listed one-by-one, spread open before her in newsprint and classified documents with fresh ink and shiny seals.

Korra heaves a heavy sigh as she slips the folder back into the stack on the desk, and it is as she pulls her fingers away that she catches sight of something that plunges her heart into her stomach.

_CASE# 9852: TAHNO OF THE _.  
_

She peers closer, blinking twice to clear away the disbelief. Her fingers slowly reach out to take hold of the file, gingerly, hesitantly, and she leans back in the chair as she stares at the name on the folder. It feels wrong to be holding this file—_his _file—in her hands, because this is a total invasion of privacy, but the prospect of what might be inside is so frightening and delicious that her fingers actually begin to shake ever-so-slightly. Korra gently taps her foot on the ground while she turns over the idea in her mind, trying to release some of the nervous tension while still maintaining her silence, but she is running out of time, and if she's going to do this, she has to do it _now_. With one last reconnaissance glance about the room, she sighs deeply, and opens the file.

Her eyes land on the standard photo clipped to top right corner of the standard cover page, and her breath abandons her.

It has been one week and six days, and the effect he has on her hasn't weakened in the slightest.

She releases a shuddery breath and hastily turns the page, biting her bottom lip so furiously as she skims over the words that she vaguely worries she might one day end up chewing it apart. Interestingly, it's not the information already written into the documents that intrigues her, but rather the number of spaces still remaining on the pages. She knows it's not uncommon to be without a surname for most, since having a family name is usually reserved for the richest and most privileged outside of royalty, but... she's curious; a given name is often connected to their place of origin, and yet... _Korra of the Southern Water Tribe. _She glances back to the label on his file, _TAHNO OF THE ____, and wonders.

There are a number of notes in the margins detailing the need for a follow-up appointment and for cross-referencing from the archives of city hall due to time constraints, but these are dated and signed from _way _too long ago to be of any consideration to the police force now, and it's clear that these facts—birthplace, relatives, duration of residence in Republic City—have fallen under the radar. Korra frowns, eyes narrowing incredulously at the broken puzzle before her, and her brows draw together in frustration. "Well, somebody certainly did a shitty job with the follow through," she mutters under her breath.

She's flipping through the remaining packet in the file, ready to give up this fool's errand and go home—_and think of something productive for once_—when a page falls open in her hand, and it's clear as day that it's the transcription from his interrogation.

_You gotta get him for me._

"Don't read it," she whispers, begging her eyes to pull away. While the last few minutes of _research _could be toeing the line of questionable morals, this right here is no doubt dead center in the well-established circle labeled _utmost invasion of privacy._

_Don't! Just because it's here in front of you doesn't mean that you deserve to know. Ten minutes ago, you would never have thought to ask him about any of it! _her mind cries, but her instincts are warring. How could she have expected to even consider asking him, let alone get an honest answer, what with the state he has been in? She'd already fucked up enough as it was with her slip of the tongue about his bloodbending—_dammit, just forget about it, stop it_—so was she really supposed to just walk up to him and say, "_Oh, hey, pretty boy, would you mind filling me in on all of the horrid details about the night your bending was ripped from your soul?_"

The file is already halfway closed when she peeks down—_involuntarily—_and her eyes catch words like _under-the-table _and _unnamed party_ and _bribery._ "Fuck," she spits, and next thing you know, she's skimming over the lengthy annotations by the clerk despite her better judgment. There is a great deal of discussion about the game officials' intentions during the night of the championship match and, to her immense surprise, a police official has noted that the Wolfbats' proclamations of ignorance regarding the pay off are _true_, and has further detailed the backhanded transaction between the referees and... an unnamed group believed to hold ties to the Equalists.

She swallows the heavy lump in her throat, skeptical at once. Korra has worked alongside Tarrlok long enough to assume fabrication until proven _not to be a boiling sack of lies_, but then she sees the referee testimonials and the witness reports vouching that Equalist forces had been behind the scam, and she wavers. She turns the page, following the lines of notes in the margins, and eventually her eyes stumble across the page, over the transcript, and down to a very familiar name.

_That's correct, sir._

The line on the page screams out at her. She can hear the words enunciated perfectly in his voice, and her lips part as she imagines it; she can see the shape of his lips as he sounds each of them out with equal care, his hair disheveled, his skin sallow, his eyes hollow and lost and—

"All right," she whispers in agitation. "You've had _more _than enough."

In less than five minutes, all of the files have been stacked neatly away, sealed behind two doors and three locks, and she is back out on the street with an eager Naga and a whirlwind at her core. She has been spent _so_ many days trying to build back up those barriers had originally pushed her from him—_the egoism, the narcissism, the hedonism, the chauvinism, too many fucking isms_—and it's taken a lot of work. She doesn't want to think any differently of him just because of _this_. He's still broken the rules. He's still a sleaze, a cheater. What difference does it make if she's learned about a single moment of innocence? _It's not even innocence! It's closer to ignorance! _So what does it really matter? He's still... he's still _human,_ _and flawed, and broken, just like you are, only worse, so who are you to judge?_

It shouldn't change the way she looks at him, but it does.

"I should never have read that, Naga."

But she has, and as she barrels toward the harbor on Naga's back, she knows that there won't be able to hide from her thoughts for much longer. The dam is already leaking, and the urge to let it pour through and consume her is so enticing that she can almost _taste_ the temptation, but it's too soon; when she's back, after Naga has been put away comfortably, after she's gotten through the formalities and the useless pleasantries of dinner, when she's successfully avoided any awkward encounters with Mako or Asami or Bolin and after she's retired for bed and is sure that no one will dare disturb her, then, and only then, will she give in.

It shouldn't change the way she looks at him, and it hits her that maybe, it _doesn't_, not really...Because she has been craving him for nearly two weeks now, and all of the barriers and dividers and protective shields at her disposal still can't hide the fact that she misses his company.

_What changed?_ she wonders. _What's the difference between then and now?_

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But it occurs to her that the difference might have been made a long, _long_ time ago.

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_I suppose we'll see... won't we?_

She swallows thickly, and urges Naga onward;  
when Air Temple Island appears on the horizon, it isn't near quickly enough.

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_It's quiet here, at least._

And it is.

Korra lays along the wet sand, feeling the surf lap at her ankles and calves, breathes with the tide, and thinks. She's done exactly as she's said she would; the dam is in tatters, as is her peace of mind, and the deluge of memories has already flooded her three times over.

When it'd become obvious that the four walls of her bedroom were too high and too thick, Korra stole to the waters along the southern shore of the island. The water had been cool and refreshing against her too-warm skin, and the bite of the cold was nothing compared to the familiar arctic waters, but soon enough her muscles tired from her swim, and now she lay here, with most of the water bent from her clothes, still drying on the fine sand beneath the sounds of night and the moon hidden behind the clouds.

It's a beautiful beach, but it's not _theirs_, and this makes all the difference. It's not white sand and dark water, because the storm clouds and have turned the night into a mass of dull gray, and although the stillness of the silence and the feel of the waves calm her, she cannot ignore it any longer.

She is alone.

This means many things, but most importantly, it means that no one is here to see her, to think anything of her, to expect anything from her—and it's always, always the same, isn't it, she thinks, because everything and _nothing_ has changed—and _who will know_? If she allows herself just this one moment of release, of pretending that there is nothing to complicate her story, of giving in to the—_feel of his touch gliding over her cheek_—absurdity of it all, just this once... No one will know.

She closes her eyes and breathes.

_What can I do?_

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It has been one week and six days, and she swears that it's the last.

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* * *

**NEXT INSTALLMENT:**

Arc II : **letting go** – _dirty little secrets_


	5. Arc II : letting go : little secrets

**Author's Notes:** _6/23/12_. HOLY CRAP, THE FINALE. Also. No fear! Because I only intended this _gray skies ahead_ arc to only continue up until a certain point in the show, there isn't much that has changed about where this storyline is going. You'll see what I mean.

Also, does anyone else wish Tahno had given Korra a more clever nickname than "Uh-vatar?" D:

**ABOUT THE RATING:** Please keep in mind that this is rated M for language and sensuality.

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: **"Let Go" by Frou Frou (always, always, always), and most importantly:

"A Sight to Behold" by Eisley was listened to on non-stop repeat literally the entire time I wrote _one particular scene_. If you'd like a good accompanying song that captures the feel and message of what's happening, you really can't get any better than that.

**Beta'd **by the glorious **ebonyquill**. :) A savior, as always.

* * *

**letting go**

_dirty little secrets_

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"Oh," he says. "It's you again."

The second he looks up, her insides freeze, and her first instinct is to spin right back around on her heel and make a beeline out the door. But Korra doesn't stop moving, doesn't halt her approach, doesn't even bat an eye as she cautiously makes her way toward their booth. As she comes to hover just before the table, her brows draw together in frustration because there is a flask sitting next to his cup of tea, but since he seems to still have most of wits about him—_when doesn't he?—_she ignores it and carries on; without preamble, she starts what she set out to do.

"You were right," she swallows.

It has been exactly two weeks, and here they are.

For a moment Tahno simply stares at her, skeptically, and she can see the tentative suspicion in his narrowing eyes. "I usually am," he drawls, but there is a snide sort of self-depreciation to it even now. "Mind filling me in?"

Korra sighs and chews the inside of her cheek, taking stock of how tired and worn he appears; Tahno looks exactly as she feels. How long had it been since he'd gotten a decent night's rest? Since she did? Korra wonders, not for the first time, what he might have been up to while she'd stayed away, but another involuntary glance to the flask and the tea gives her a few ideas, and she clears her throat.

"What you said about me not being prepared to take on my enemy," she explains, oddly feeling as if she had somehow become detached from her voice. "You were right, and I'm sorry. Not for the way I acted afterward, because you had that coming—there wasn't any need for you to be so crude about it... but I'll admit that one of the reasons why I got so angry—why I didn't want to hear it—is because it's true. I'm _not_ ready. And I shouldn't have stormed out like that, even if you _were_ asking for it."

She waits for a long moment, standing firm as she watches for a reaction to slide across his face, but he is skillfully guarded. His eyes are locked onto hers, and even as she tells herself that she'll be strong and not break away, she knows that it's a silly thought; she's standing over a foot above his seated form with a distinct advantage, and he's still got her feeling as frozen to the spot as ever. His eyes slowly shift, moving over her face with careful consideration, and she refuses to blink because she knows what she'll see if she does—a predator in the firelight, a ghost on a bench at the station, a broken shell under the gentle glow of a healer's touch, a lost man found in the softness of sheets—and she refuses to be trapped by her own memories when he is finally right here in front of her. Yet here they are again, and obviously _he_ should be the one who feels the most uncomfortable with this situation, so how is she still the one feeling cornered?

He drops his gaze to the teacup in front of him and—_Korra collects the elusive breath she had been yearning for as_—he gently toys with the handle.

"That sounds more like a justification than a concession."

He raises the cup to his lips for a drink, and Korra blinks. "Excuse me?"

He smirks into the rim, but after one sip, he smoothly pulls away the tea with a look of distaste. "Remind me to teach you how to form a proper apology."

Korra's mouth drops as she searches for her words, but even after a few seconds of indignant sputtering, she is only able to grind out an incredulous, "_You? _Teach _me_?" His gaze shifts back up to her indignant face and, to her horror, his smirk scrambles her brain.

"I can be a decent teacher when the situation calls for it," he enunciates the words slowly, his eyes clear and lucid, and her head is whirling because they both know what the other is thinking about.

_I could give you some... private lessons._

There is a glint in his eye, and it ignites a fire in her core that sears all the way up her spine. She's _furious_. She is furious because _he's still just as much of a jerk as ever _but even still, something flickers inside her with hope, because she's missed this, and she's still just as drawn to it as before. She opens her mouth to speak—not quite sure yet what she's going to say, yet convinced that she'll think of something—but he cuts her off.

"Well," he says in a low voice, and she can feel it reverberate all the way through her chest. "You needed to hear it." She can't contain her incredulous, belittling laughter, but— "I'm not finished. It was what you needed to hear, and I'm not the kind to sugarcoat." He bites the inside of his cheek in thought, and Korra hesitates; she's seen him brood and languish and scrutinize, but never contemplate, and she finds herself digging her fingernails into her crossed arms while she waits.

"But?" she gently prompts, and _shit_, she promised herself that she was going to patient—

"But I was in a state, and I took it out on you," he says clearly, and Korra is so captivated by the sounds that she almost forgets to listen to the actual words. "And that wasn't right either."

A pregnant pause fills the air between them as she processes his words, and Korra's not sure if she's going crazy or if she's just making stuff up now, but there is a look in Tahno's eyes that she hasn't seen for a long time, and the only way Korra can describe it is _alive_. She almost smiles, feeling irrationally light all of a sudden, but she bites her tongue to hide it, confused by how so little can change so much and _have we really been wasting away two weeks over __this__? _A disparaging thought slides over her rising high—_how in the hell is __that__ apology supposed to be superior to mine?_—but she will not let it detract from this moment, not when there is an olive branch on the horizon and if she could _just_ reach a _little_ farther—

"So... we're even?"

Tahno hardly considers that an appropriate delineation—_a bender and a non-bender, the Avatar and the less-than-ordinary, a decent human being and a sad excuse for one_—but he shrugs a noncommittal shrug and says, "Yeah. Why not?"

She sits down, instantly brighter, and he is taken aback by how quickly she has transformed. "Good," she says cheerfully. "Because I've been _dying _for these noodles." He stills, thoroughly perplexed as he watches her excitedly arrange and rearrange her placemat and utensils in the space before her, and he is so beguiled that it takes him a moment to find his voice.

"You're kidding."

"Tahno, I do not _kid_ about water tribe noodles."

"Apparently not," he says flatly, still a little astonished and inexplicably a little bothered by her sudden upward shift in mood. "But now I see that your true motivations for this little endeavor have been revealed. And here I'd assumed you came all this way just to patch things up with me; at last, the truth comes out."

"Oh, be quiet," she shushes him, pointing her unopened package of chopsticks at his face, and—_I should really call her out on her rudeness_—but he figures she wouldn't be listening anyway, because she's already eagerly tearing into them, and he tells himself that he'll remind her next time.

But he bites back a smile, and has a feeling that he won't.

Tahno vaguely senses the first waves of contentment setting in, and just as he starts to think—_I was so sure that she wouldn't come back_—_oh_, lo and behold, it's the absolute fucking _perfect_ moment for an interruption; his eyes narrow incredulously toward the the archway, and—_seriously?_—it's none other than old, trusty Narook, coming around the corner.

"You already ordered?" he accuses her, and he's not going to lie, he almost feels a little betrayed; he didn't actually think she was _that_ serious about the noodles, but from the looks of it_, I'm actually second to stewed seaweed, aren't I?_ "What would you have done if I hadn't accepted your apology?" he demands. "Sat and ate alone at the bar?"

"What?" she asks, flabbergasted, but then she feels a warm and welcoming presence coming toward her from behind and she smells the warm, toasty, appetizing scent of sea prunes and—

"_Narook!" _she exclaims with delight, and he has to hastily put down her tray of food on a neighboring table, lest he drop it, because she is throwing herself into his arms with the might of the grandest hug either of them has received in ages, complete with all of the warm and happy affection of a heart that has been contained for far too long.

"I saw you as you were turning the corner into the back and had them put the order on right away," his gruff voice tells her agreeably, and a hint conspiratorially. "Good to see you again, Korra."

The old man laughs softly as the young Avatar nearly bubbles over with fondness, he and offers a steady set of fatherly pats to her embrace with a calloused hand. Tahno, meanwhile, ... impassively watches the exchange with flat eyes and a deadpan glare.

When Narook peers over the head of the lively girl to his tenant, still unable to prevent a small smile from curving over lips that are too worn with frown lines, he sees that Tahno is quietly rapping his fingers against the table, and with his temple supported by a thumb and forefinger and the unmistakable _what the fuck, Narook, __really__? _written across his solitary brow. The annoyance of the young man is rolling off in dark waves.

The owner releases another laugh as he pulls away from the bright and shining girl, and Tahno falls back against the seat with a roll of his eyes and an impatient scoff, but it goes unnoticed because Korra is already fawning all over the dishes and helping place them at her seat. And because Korra is so absorbed in her noodles, she catches neither the purposeful glance Narook sends him—_See?_—nor the way Tahno mouths a hardened dismissal—_Go! _

Tahno inhales deeply, trying to calm his temper, but his mood is already soured, which only frustrates him more. He presses his fingers over his eyes as he tries to remember where they'd left off before her food and his landlord ruined the moment—_what moment?_—but he's got nothing, so he opens his eyes and—

"Shit, Avatar, you're digging into that like you haven't eaten anything in days."

"I haven't," she tells him after a gulp of her water, which was necessary to swallow down all of the food she'd stuffed inside. She takes another sip and releases a joyous exhalation into the glass. "Not food like this, anyway!"

"Now I know why Narook keeps giving you the special treatment," he says blandly, and he absently lifts his own glass to examine the stains left on the sides. "I've never heard anyone abuse flattery so profusely."

Korra's eyes widen as she swallows another mouthful. "But how can you _not_?" she asks and, in a weird way, his words have warmed her heart. "This is just like my village used to make during festivals when I was a kid at the South Pole!"

"Wouldn't know," he drones, gently setting the glass back down. "Never been."

"But you _do_ know," she says, cheer still intact. "Because this is just as good as any authentic home-cooked meal. This here, this is just like what we roasted over the fire for the Aurora Australis Festival. And this is Naga's favorite—I'd always save her the scraps." He _hmms_ with somewhat polite disinterest and, feeling a strange urge come over her, Korra remembers her thoughts from yesterday about _support... _and she finds herself wanting to share something with him. "And _this_," she points to a bowl, and Tahno glances to the dish with narrowed—_curious_—eyes when her pause stretches too long.

"The seaweed?" he prods, his voice flat.

"I used to eat this all the time with the Order members at the training compound when we'd listen to the pro-bending matches."

She knows it's not what he'd been expecting, just like she knows it's a tricky play, bringing up pro-bending, but she thinks that this time it might be the right thing to do. He doesn't respond right away, staring into the leafy greens, but she doesn't take it as a particularly negative sign or as a cue to stop talking about it.

"I used to dream about seeing pro-bending matches, ever since I was a kid," she says softly. "When I first got here, I couldn't believe how close Air Temple Island was from the arena."

A brittle laugh escapes his dry lips and still his eyes won't meet hers. "Was it everything you thought it'd be?"

"Yes and no," she thinks carefully. "I've learned a lot."

He nods, but it's an absent gesture, and she can almost feel the cynicism pouring out and rolling onto the table between them. But she has _missed_ this, missed him, and she's here now, and the last thing she wants is to see him like this.

"You know," she begins slowly. "I wasn't going to admit this, because the last thing I wanted to do was give you a chance to gloat, but... I actually already knew who you were when you first stalked up to me in this bar, the night I was here with Bolin." He turns his head toward her a fraction, expression unreadable. "I didn't recognize that it was _you... _but I'd been reading about you since the Wolfbats' debut."

"Is that so?" he tries to sound flippant, but he is intrigued in spite of himself; ages ago, he would have basked in her words, milked it for all its worth, but now it only gives him a little discomfort, a little pride, and maybe a little warmth.

"I mean, it wasn't exactly boring to read about your ostentatiousness and rather flamboyant tastes; I just didn't expect you to live up to them so thoroughly."

He scoffs, and a smirk slides over his lips. "At least you knew what you were getting into. With little to no information regarding the new Avatar until her recent presentation to society at City Hall, should I really have expected the foul-mouthed, brutish punk that you are?"

She points her chopsticks at him again. "Watch it, sir."

His eyes drop to the wooden utensils in her hand and—_something about the way he's staring at her fingers makes her stomach drop, makes her heart beat a little faster and_—ever so slowly, his raises his gaze back to hers; without breaking the contact, he carefully raises a forefinger and places it just below her hold, gently pressing down until the offensive pieces are directed at the table. It doesn't escape her notice that he has been careful to avoid all contact with her skin, and the thought of his fingers brushing—_just a mere centimeter closer_—onto hers sends a little jolt through her.

"Manners, Avatar."

She is struck dumb for a moment, completely caught off guard, but before she can figure out a clever remark—_or remember how to breathe_—he is already moving forward with the conversation.

"So you've been listening to it for years?" he clarifies, idly tracing the rim of the glass with his smallest finger. "Who was your favorite team?"

In a flurry of embarrassment, she realizes that she is staring, but when she blinks once to clear away the haze, her gaze lands all too quickly on the movements of his fingers, and she has to clear her throat to cover/ignore the warmth creeping over her skin. Korra takes a sip of the water to cover the silence of these passing moments as she recovers, hoping that the pause comes off as thoughtful instead of dazed, and thinks, _Get it together, Korra. Pro-bending. _Right. She could handle that. _Simple._

She sets the water down with renewed determination, and shrugs out a smile. "The Boarcupines, of course."

"Oh, please," his shoulders sag and she recoils slightly as his eye turns critical. "Tell me you're not one of _those_ fans."

"What?"

"The Boarcupines? Really?"

"They were the longest reigning champions!"

"Exactly. That's a rather obvious choice, isn't it? I'd hoped you weren't the kind to simply go for the popular, easy pick."

She sends him a hard glance, eyeing his sharp features and even sharper eyes. _Definitely not_. But she can hold her own in a pro-bending debate like no other, and she'll be damned if he's going to try to talk down to her like this. "Oh, yeah? And who was _your_ favorite team then?"

"I'm not even gonna bother; you barely understand the rules as it is, anyway."

"I understand the them, I just don't _care_. There is a difference."

The smirk deepens. "Look who you're talking to. If there's one thing you and I share, it's a compelte disregard for the rules."

"Okay, now—_that's _different." And it is, she tells herself.

"How would you reason that?"

"My _accidental_ rule-breaking is a matter of inexperience—yours is a matter of intentionality!"

But this conversation is already starting to bring back too many points from her rendezvous with the police files at the station yesterday. _How the hell did this even happen? s_he wonders. How had the conversation spiraled into _this_, with some sort of line being drawn around them, in which she is suddenly labeled a cheater by ignorance and yesterday, he, through ignorance, ended up not being one at the moment when she had been most certain that he _was_, and it hurt her head to think about it and—_Korra, you're an idiot._

"You make it sound like one is any less questionable than the other," he notes with a bite of amusement, driving the nail home, seemingly able to key in on her wavering thoughts.

"If I've broken any rule, it's been because I've just gotten a little hazy on the the reminders. You've made a conscious decision to ignore them," Korra counters, but all of this is making her distinctly uncomfortable, and she's ready to end this and switch topics.

"Oh, yeah?" he quirks a solitary brow. "How about that unnecessary roughness during the game against the Buzzard Wasps? On the game official?"

_Okay now, I get it, enough, _she pouts. "Whatever, he had it coming. And you know what? How are we even having this conversation, anyway? _I _wasn't a part of the cheating team in the finals."

"Whatever makes you feel better, Avatar," he laughs under his breath, and she has to rub the goosebumps away. "I may have been more _overt_ in our ways of thinking outside the box, but you can't deny that you're still just as conniving as the rest of us." She makes a motion to protest, but there is a flash of something in his eye, and another small chuckle escapes him.

Korra's irritated, but she is _so_ surprised to see this side of him again, to see him do anything that resembles laughter, even if it's what she's been aiming for, that she reins it all in. "What?" she asks tentatively, both eager to hear his voice again and afraid of breaking the light atmosphere.

"Nothing," he shakes his head, but his eyes are dancing with amusement, and _yep, _Korra needs another sip of water. "I just wondered what it would have been like if... if instead of playing for the Ferrets, you were to have somehow wormed your way into playing for the Wolfbats. You'd have fit right in." When his words register, her face scrunches into a grimace, and he chuckles at her dismay. "It's just as well. The announcer did say you and I were evenly matched... and the crowd always loved a good show."

She doesn't know how to feel about about the idea of them being _evenly matched_; was that really what the radio broadcaster had said? _No way_. She'd have to go back and listen to the tapes. But this topic is really no better than the last, and this confusion isn't making her feel any less sour. "Well, a _show _was certainly what you gave them," she says dryly.

"I'm assuming you're remembering something in particular?"

"A _watery grave_?" she cocks a brow. "You don't think that's a bit much?"

"What can I say? The people like a little drama; I only gave them what they wanted."

"Right, and me making a fool out of you in front of hundreds of spectators had nothing to do with it," she beams superciliously, and he glares at her. But before he can spit back a scathing comment, her smirk drops and, softly, she asks, "Didn't you ever get tired of it?" She's talking of the act he'd play, the performance in the ring... But she's really wondering something else, too, and when he looks in her eyes, he can see this.

Because _every day_ is an act, isn't it?

For both of them.

"Well, let me tell you a little secret, Avatar," Tahno says in a low voice, and the weight of his voice settles over her heart. "It's wasn't all that it's cracked up to be.

Korra watches the shadows of his lashes dust over the lines of his cheeks as he stares into untouched cup of tea, and feels something within her break. "So... you don't miss it?"

But Tahno isn't fully there. The place in his mind, the world he is in now, it's where you can feel the thrill of pulsing water as an opponent is struck down or find the heat and sweat and taste of a decent spar. He remembers planting a well-aimed punch to the gut of the girl before him, wanting to see her fall, and _reveling_ in the sight when she finally did. He remembers the hit he took to the face in return, the rush of water into his eyes and nose and mouth until he was suffocated by the blow, and the burning rage and fury and hatred that came with it. _Evenly matched. _He remembers the jarring impact of earth against bone, the delicious pain of feeling of a flame that's come too close, of choking down water through burning pipes, the adrenaline, the power, the fight, the feeling of _life_ and earning the right to be alive.

"Tahno?"

It is her voice that brings him back, but her eyes are what keep him from drifting away.

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"I miss it more every day."

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"Wow, this place is pretty busy from the sound of it," Korra observes once her laughter has died down. "Does Narook have a breakfast special or something?"

"What are you talking about? It's already lunchtime."

"_What?_"

"Look at the clock," he shrugs. Even as Korra glances at the device behind her, when she sees the hands twisted too far, she's still convinced that it's a joke, but then realization sets in and _holy crap, how did four hours go by so fast? _She is still staring at the time on the wall, mouth agape, when he says, "You know, I get that you're the Avatar and all, and that time and space doesn't really mean all that much to you, but you need to buy yourself a watch or something."

"Crap," Korra mutters under her breath, dropping her head into her hands, and she doesn't get why this bothers her, but _give me a minute, until I sort it all out._

He retracts the antagonistic smirk. "You got somewhere to be?"

"No," Korra waves a dismissive hand, but the other is still massaging her temple.

"You all right?" he asks suspiciously. "Need tea or something to go?"

She pauses, and her hand drops to the table. "I have another question," she says slowly.

"Go for it."

"Why do you order tea if you never drink it?"

Tahno blinks, then nods thoughtfully, and she doesn't understand why he looks so amused. "Would you rather that I return to my preferred drink of choice?"

_Point taken. _"It's just strange. I essentially grew up with tea-benders and for them an untouched cup of tea is like... blasphemous against life itself. Unheard of." An idea occurs to her. "Do you mind if I make some in your apartment again sometime? I'd love to have it with Narook's noodles, but... although he's a genius with seaweed, I'm a little pickier about my tea leaves." He takes a casual sip of his water and shrugs.

"You could come upstairs right now, if you like."

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_Oh_.

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"Right now?" she asks, and _crap, crap, crap, why is my voice so high?_

"Sure. You said you don't have anywhere else to be."

"Right."

"Right," he says slowly, eyeing her carefully. "Well, let's go."

As he arranges the empty dishes into a neat pile, Korra begins to feel her awareness grow and mutate into hypersensitivity. At an alarming rate, the sounds of the people beyond the wall have become thunderously loud, and she only now notices how limp and yielding the cushion beneath her really is, and just how far below the table she has sunk. He stands and she follows suit, but she must have left some piece of herself behind because everything inside her is scrambled, and she's pretty sure that her heart is where her stomach's supposed to be, or maybe vice versa, and—_it's just tea, you idiot, this is hardly a momentous decision_—but as she follows his steps toward the archway, her heart and her stomach and the rest of her displaced organs know that _this is not what she'd been expecting_, and all of a sudden she is inexplicably nervous.

"Aren't you going to bring that?" she blurts, pointing to the flask left back on the table and—_oh, good one, Korra, tell the recovering alcohol that he forgot his alcohol, all because you need a stalling tactic and you're the Avatar, you should not be stalling this is not stalling_—

"Nah, it stays down here. Narook will put it in the back when he cleans the mess."

Tahno can tell that she's confused, though not sure how to bring it up, so with an impatient breath, he retrieves the flask from the table, flips the cap, and shows it to her. But now she is only more confused.

"What _is_ it?"

He raises an amused, almost mocking brow. "It's sugar."

"You keep a flask full of _sugar_?"

"Does this look to you like the kind of place that would regularly keep sugar on hand?"

"Let me guess," Korra crosses her arms, and now it's her turn for a laugh. "For the tea you never drink?" She sees something shift in his eyes, and the sight spreads a flock of warm butterflies through her stomach.

"You never know," he says quietly, and his eyes smile.

_So much for not being one to sugarcoat, _she smiles back and, somehow, she's feeling lighter than she has in days. "Do you have some upstairs?"

"I might have some left, yeah."

"Good," she nods brightly, hurrying to the door, and Tahno has to use his long legs to keep up. He warns her to watch her head as he opens the door, gesturing to the low overhang of the space behind the doorframe, and she looks back at him in surprise.

"You know, I still haven't forgiven you for those illegal head shots, by the way," she tells him emphatically, squishing into the wall of the shadowy, narrow staircase as they ascend. "That earthbending combination was really cheap."

He'd almost forgotten. "And you think I've forgiven you for the sucker-punch?"

"Technically," she says quietly, and she can feel her feet dragging along the floorboards—_t__he only thing I care about where you're concerned is_—as they reach the first landing. "I gave you fair warning a long time ago." He pauses at the bend in the stairs, and as he looks down at her eyes in the shadows of the lightless hallway, she wonders what he sees.

_Can he see how sorry I am?_

"That you did," he says, just as quietly. "At least you were true to your word." Korra is swallowing back a lump, convinced that _this_ is the proper moment to say something, but she has no idea where to begin, and he is already plastering that twisted smirk back over his features. "Was it as satisfying as you thought it'd be?"

Before she can answer, he is already moving up the steps, twisting with the curve of the bend and toward the landing that will lead to the long stretch of hallway containing the two humble apartment units that Narook oversees. She searches for the right words, and after a moment: "Honestly? I'd say it was my best hit yet."

"_Yet_? You sound like you want another shot," he says, but he is laughing at her.

"Are you testing me?" she asks purposefully, pausing on the penultimate step, which means that the height difference is exaggerated because he is already one step ahead of her. And _here he is_, Korra thinks, all smirk and less ice and talking like the cocky, arrogant son-of-a-bitch she knew him to be, and suddenly she wants to _know_.

_Is he really as good as he says he is?_

And she's not exactly thinking about the arena.

"Well, that depends," Tahno says silkily, and again, Korra is acutely aware of just how close they are, alone in this little hallway, under the shadows cast from a single skylight at the end of the line. "Do I have any reason to worry?"

"Not if you can keep the your sliminess to a minimum."

"Looks like you're out of luck, Avatar."

"All right, now you're just asking for it," she skips the last step, sliding across the short distance to his door. Korra watches as he slips his hands into his pockets, searching for his key—_fuck, where is it?_—and when the gray light from the other end of the hall casts soft shadows along the hollows of his cheeks—_she is distracted by the way it glints over his hair and in his eyes_—her skin feels hot all over.

"Oh, no, you already had your unfair advantage before the match even began, remember?" he warns, trying to look intimidating, but he still can't find his key. He pats his hands all down along his sides, re-checking his pockets, and Korra has to swallow hard because she can feel her fingers _itching_ to touch, but she is caught by the memory of their physical confrontation on the beach.

"You had your chance to report me," she reminds him, but her voice feels wrong, and her eyes feel heavy, and her breath feels thick in her throat. "Why didn't you... by the way?"

"What?" he asks, and _shit, where is the fucking key? _He clears his throat, hoping that she can't see the beads of sweat gathering at his temple in this light, wishing that she would stand just a little bit farther away so that he could focus on opening the door instead of her presence.

"You didn't report me. Why?"

And at last, he's found the key. _Fucking finally_, he thinks as he whips it out from the small gap in his front right pocket, and hastily jams it into the doorknob. He turns the lock with a vicious twist and the door creaks open. Korra stares at the wall inside his apartment, visible between the space of those few inches of the open door, and Tahno can only imagine what she's thinking, but he says, "I wanted that fight just as much you did."

He pulls back, and she can hear every crack in the wood of the door as it hinges open. Korra's eyes are glued to his back as he steps into the apartment and her heart is pounding against her ribs, and she knows that _this can't have been a good idea_, but they are already _so close_. She steps in behind him, can feel the heat off of him from less than a foot away, and her lips suddenly feel so dry. He isn't facing her, half-turned toward the kitchen, half toward the closing door, and his profile is only a little sharper in the soft, natural light of the dull windows around them and Korra's mind is hounded by reasons of why _she shouldn't be here_ and what she really needs to do is to keep her guard up because _they have been here before, in another time, in another life and things are different now_ and all she's been doing lately is making poor decisions and—

_What's the harm in just one more?_

"Well, you know where everything is," Tahno swallows, feeling the room shift as the door clicks shut. The air is heavy, and he doesn't dare turn toward her until he's regained some sense of composure. _Pathetic__, _he scolds. He clears his throat and lifts a hand to lead the way to the kitchens, slowly twisting his torso to meet her directly. "Is there anything else you—"

And then she is kissing him.

Before the rest of the sentence has even made it to the tip of his tongue—_his hand is still high in the air, mid-gesture_—she rushes forward, slamming into him as she eliminates those few barely-there inches, and reaches for the back of his neck with both hands, kissing him full on the mouth with all of the long-awaited, pent-up, _burning_ impatience that has been licking away at her core for days.

At first Tahno cannot move, uncharacteristically taken by surprise, and his arm hangs stupidly in the air for a hot second before Korra sighs into his mouth and he can almost hear the _come on, get a move on, you idiot_ dripping with annoyance and whatever, she has no right to be annoyed with him and _holy fuck—_

His hands catch up with his brain only a moment later, and then the two of them are crushing themselves against one another, and the almost-tender way they are holding each other's faces in their hands seems nothing at all like the way he roughly drives her shoulders back into the solid door, or the way she pushes back even as he pins her to the wood, digging her heels into the ground as she forces her knee between his. His lips are dry but firm, and they mold to hers with such direction and intentionality and _foresight_ that she's honestly a little unnerved for a moment because she has never been kissed quite like this before, and a stray wayward thought flies across her mind—_I wonder how many people you have to kiss before you get this good—_before it slips, and all that is left is the feeling of his tongue dragging across hers and teeth clashing against teeth.

His thumbs are pressing into into her jaw, right at the junctures where cheekbones and hairlines meet, and his long fingers curl back and around and into the hair tucked into the elastic. She feels the pulling of the strands as they are carelessly tugged free, loose and wild about her shoulders, but the sensation is anything but unpleasant. She twists their angle regardless, spinning them both sideways so that they ram their shoulders against the door, and she disengages one of her own hands to reach back and yank the elastic free, saving both of them the trouble. One of his hands immediately buries itself deep into the thick waves behind her ear, and his other spreads further along the base of her skull, pulling her closer as he pushes harder, and as she feels her lips begin to swell with the effort, her skin literally tingles with anticipation and awareness and _need_.

"_Fuck_," he gasps against her mouth.

Korra may have had the element of surprise, but her advantage ends there; she is not inexperienced, but she gets the feeling that Tahno doesn't settle for second-best in _anything, _and now that he's come to his senses, Korra is realizing just how rapidly the tables have turned. Not yet willing to relinquish any measure of assertiveness, she spreads her fingers into the hair at his neck, pulling _just_ enough; he groans into her mouth, responding in turn by pinning her back up against the door once more, and she drops a hand to his shoulder to steady herself for the impact, sliding it back down and around his wide shoulders, gripping the fabric as it shifts over the planes of his back. Almost as if he's reading her mind—_or as if she's reading his_—he lifts her off the ground and leans harder into the wood as she wraps her legs around his torso, clinging more tightly, and she can feel the tension in the muscles as they surround her, twisting around her abdomen, wrapping around her shoulders, and holding strong and steadfast at her hips.

Her mouth is hot and wet with full lips against his, and he's surrounded by the scent of her, fresh and wild and clean, and his nose burns as he works to take it all in. Their lips struggle for dominance, sucking and pulling and probing, and for a second Tahno thinks that it's like the arena all over again, that each breath, each brush, is another opportunity to out-play the other, but then she sighs a soft sound at the flick of his tongue over her bottom lip and he is struck by the idea that perhaps instead of _competing_, what she is really doing is _testing him_, instead.

Korra senses the rising heat in his movements, and the mounting urgency tears through her with dizzying force; she matches his pace, sliding the fingers of one hand over the thin fabric to dig into the skin at his lower back, and she gasps as he leans his hips forward, pressing himself against her until she is left gasping and there are no lingering doubts of the extent of his desire. Tahno takes this moment to watch her, feeling their hair tangle as he tastes her breath still hanging in the air and, holding their heavy gazes steady, he thrusts forward again. A soft moan escapes her as her lashes flutter closed, and the sight of her like this, like she is drunk off of this mere touch—_his _touch—is intoxicating. It is a power that is all at once familiar and new, onethat he cannot remember not ever having at his disposal, and one that he has never before cared to wield. But now... when she presses back in for another kiss, he leaves her hanging, suspended without release as he instead turns his lips to the space below her jaw, to the collar at her neck, and—_a memory strikes, a vision of bodies too close and too warm in the dancing firelight and_—Korra can't help but arch into him, her nails pulling at his hips as she lets him explore. She's not sure if this particular skill set of his is natural or honed—_or does she even care?_—and she thinks about how she should try to fight back a little bit more, try to regain some sort of power balance, but hell, it just feels too good and—_whatever, it doesn't matter, just as long as it doesn't stop._

It doesn't, of course.

Somewhere in between their lips finding each other again and her hands finding their way under his shirt, Korra is dropped onto the soft but firm cushions of his couch, and Tahno follows closely after her, making quick work of pushing apart her knees with one of his own as she rises up to meet him half-way. A low sound escapes him as she sucks at his bottom lip, but then he nips at hers with a growl and a firm kiss, and she is dragging her fingers along the bare back beneath his shirt just to keep herself afloat. He supports her neck, cradling her skull with one elegant hand as he grips the backrest for balance, and gently lowers her down. When she is settled against the cushions, he shifts himself directly over her, hovering just close enough to feel every breath, every movement, and the only break in his careful attention to her lips as he trails a warm thumb down the long curve of her neck is the shuddering breath she leaves against his mouth.

Her fingers wind their way around his sides to the hard planes of his stomach and she reaches up with one hand toward his neck, pulling him closer while the other explores the ridges and valleys of the muscles beneath her fingertips. His thumb smoothes over the ridge of her collarbone, traveling onward until her shoulder is clasped under the heat of his palm, and down it glides, past the hook of her elbow and over the place where her shirt is tucked under the bindings of her fur. She hastily opens the clasps at his neck as he deftly unties the sash at her waist and as he pulls apart the knot and she fumbles with the last fastening, she feels a smirk against her mouth.

His hands tear away the fabric, leaving the fur sprawling along the floor, and she lifts the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders and out of his arms, and as they break apart, she uses the opportunity to scold him between breaths, "It's not a race, you know."

She expects a witty remark or something sarcastic and arrogant, but instead his smirk only widens. It's probably the most infuriating action he could have taken, and she bets that he _knows _this, and she's just about to give him a piece of her mind when her eyes drop downward to the bare chest that hovers just above her and she stills, openly staring. But she is given barely any time to appreciate the finer lines and creases because he is on her again in a second, smiling mouth moving over hers, and she can't say she's entirely surprised—_smug motherfucker—_when she finds that she is smirking, too.

Boldly, Korra places both hands on his shoulders and, in one fluid movement, pushes him back and sideways against the soft backrest of the couch as she sits up, and though his eyes flutter open with confusion one moment, she is sliding over him the next, straddling his hips as she grips the backrest behind his shoulders. He glances down at their new position with something like amusement, which she takes as a challenge. The look in her eyes, half-hidden behind dark, wild bangs—_with all the fire that she has in her very soul_—catches his breath, and the heat that had been curling around her navel since before they even set foot on those rickety stairs, the heat that has been spilling out into her blood since before the door even thudded shut, it matches his eyes, and it ignites in her veins like wildfire. She gasps as she rolls her hips against him, and a throaty sound falls from his lips as his head falls back onto the rise of the couch. Again and again and again, and Korra watches with a twisted sense of wonder as his eyes fall shut, aware of the feeling of her heavy breathing ghosting along her lips as well as his jaw. He rolls his neck to bury his face into her skin, gently biting and sucking from shoulder to ear in time with her soft, desperate pants, and—

He is _teasing_ her, she realizes, and the impatience and frustration in her groan when she forces his mouth back to hers is enough to make lights dance before his eyes. Korra presses harder against him, and the sounds they make together collide with the indistinct city noises of life outside those walls. She crosses her arms over her front, taking hold of the bottom of her shirt, but his fingers are already helping her pull her top free, up and over her delicate wrists, spilling her long hair into her eyes and mouth. Her bindings support most of the impact, but her breasts still roll with the movement, and his eyes crawl over her heaving chest with a hunger that leaves her dizzy and ragged and she is back on him in an instant, fingers twisted into the tangles of his hair, lips crushing against one another with bruising force, hips rocking again and again in steady thrusts under the guidance of rough fingers, and every sensation burns into her skin like a hot iron, like he is branding her with every touch, like a strike of lightning is dancing under her skin, over her skin or—_Shit! Mako!_

And just like that, the lightning splits through her brain with painful clarity. The feel of his fingers are biting into her flesh in the most tantalizing way, but when she tries to regain that fire, to rediscover that mindless need, the impossible blend of her thoughts wander hopelessly toward a certain jerk firebender and _fucking hell, I'm going to regret this_—

"Wait," she gasps.

He stops instantly, but it's another moment before she musters the strength to pull away, and she almost wishes she hadn't because he is all ragged breathing and swollen lips and lidded eyes and _shit, Korra, what are you doing, shut up and just take him, just do it now before—_

"Wait, we need to figure this out," she shakes her head, pulling back just a little farther, as if more distance will do her any good. When he speaks his voice is low and hoarse and _no, stop, you have to do this now, while you still some semblance of mind—_

"What's there to figure out?" he asks suggestively, and Korra has to place a firm hand on his chest to keep him from—_breaking her spirit_—moving any closer.

"_This_," she hisses, shaking a hand between their heaving chests. As the separation chills the air between them, Tahno's eyes regain focus and begin to see: frantic eyes, tousled hair, flushed cheeks, anxious frown. "We need to figure this out."

He sighs, and it's not a _little_ impatiently. "What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know!" she exclaims, and Tahno's head tilts to the side, still lost, still confused, and his eyes narrow because _is that panic?_ "I just... I don't do these sorts of things. I don't just run around kissing people I don't know."

"Well, that's comforting news."

She backhands his shoulder—"_Ow,_ what the hell?"— and insists, "I'm serious."

"I can see that," he mutters, feeling all of his earlier anticipation fall away. "So what do you want to do about it?"

Korra stills—_damn what do I do what do I do_—and after a few jumbled, incoherent thoughts, the first thing she can think of is, _I'm not going to be like Mako. _She has to be upfront about this. Fair. That's why this conversation needs to happen now, before anything escalates—O_h my god, do I want it to? What the hell am I even doing anymore?—_and before anyone gets hurt.

"There's too much going on right now, and I'm not interested in a relationship," she tells him evenly, but her speech is quickening, and he shifts further upright as he hears the fear begin to creep into her voice, adjusting her more comfortably on his lap, but she doesn't even notice. _That's true, isn't it? _she thinks. _Partially? Half-truth? I don't even know. _"Logically, there's no excuse for why I'm here."

_Excuse_, his mind echoes.

And if he hadn't been brought crashing back down to reality before, then he certainly had now.

"Korra," he commands huskily, and she feels her toes curl. "Do you want this... or not?"

She breathes in, but the air does nothing for the fire in her lungs and throat. "Don't be stupid," she whispers. "Of course I do. But this is crazy. I mean—_think about it_—how do you expect this to _work_?"

At first he says nothing. Korra watches him watch with a terrible sense of dread and she has the awful feeling that he's going to agree with her, that he's going to send her off and ask her to never return, to banish her from his sight, maybe even try to negotiate a hefty noodle discount for the promise of leaving him alone—but then he slowly lifts his fingers, gently sliding through the strands framing her face as he plays with her hair, and her stomach flips.

"Don't worry, Avatar," he smirks playfully, and he is already leaning back in. "I've learned not to expect much of anything from you."

Korra scoffs, and her brows knit themselves together with disbelief. "You are _such_ a—"

His kiss is so warm and tender that she almost relents, almost gives in, but this is something that she _needs_ to know. "I mean it," she says softly, breaking the kiss, with grave eyes. "I just need to know where we stand."

He pulls back from her, not too far away, but enough to see the dread and the hope in her eyes. He chews the inside of his cheek as he considers her, and Korra's stomach is a tangle of knots, but she needs to brave, she needs to do this, and she won't put it off any longer.

"All right. What do you need to from me?"

"I think I just want to set some boundaries," she says carefully, biting her lower lip, and her heart skips against her will when she sees his eyes glaze over. _No more lip biting! _She takes a steadying breath instead. "I can't handle any more distractions right now."

"Fair enough... So what do you want from me?"

"You mean like conditions?"

"You said you wanted boundaries, didn't you?"

"Right," she whispers, and her fingers somehow wind up toying with the strands of his hair as she thinks. "Then I guess I'll start off with something that's pretty relevant, considering." She looks down pointedly to their position, hips against hips and chest against chest, then back at him meaningfully. "I'll only go so far," she tells him. "I'm not that kind of girl."

Tahno feels her breasts pressing against him as she breathes, and he wants to remind her that _she's_ the one who's currently got him pinned down to the couch, and that _she's_ the one who initiated this—_and_ _honestly, it's not really like I've ever had to offer up much persuasion to take things to the next level_—but there is something in her words that has unsettled him. "And what, you think I'm the kind of guy who would apply that kind of pressure?" If she didn't know any better, she'd say he sounded a little offended. "I may be an asshole, but I'm not a complete bastard."

Korra looks at him like she's not entirely convinced, and it does something to the pit in his gut. "Just wanted to make that clear," she says quietly, but firmly. "Your turn."

"I don't need you to try to fix me," he tells her immediately, and out of anything that he could have asked her for, she would never have expected this; Korra doesn't know what to make of it. "You're going to have to drop whatever lingering healing notions you might have; I don't need them."

She nods slowly, not fully understanding—_not his words, nor the silent urgency behind them_—but that is a promise she can keep. "I can manage that," she says softly.

"Your turn," he sighs, and he settles further into the couch, shifting her deeper into his lap.

"I want this to stay a secret."

He pauses, head cocking to the side. This sends a strange buzz through his bones, like sticking an iron rod into an oncoming chi-blocker's path, but he scoffs out a laugh and says, "What, I'm not allowed to enlighten Mr. Mako and the little Ferret toy with all the pleasantries of our acquaintance?"

She gives him a hard look. "I don't need any more distractions, and that'd be the_ least_ of my worries if they were to know. I mean, even if _Tenzin _were to find out," she pauses, and her mind reels with all of the frightening possibilities. "You know, I don't think he'd really consider it any of his business, as long as it didn't screw with my training, but on the other hand, he is kind of my stand-in mentor-father figure right now, and I doubt he'd let me go gallivanting over here so often if he knew what I was really up to."

"So no one knows where you keep running off to then?" he asks quietly.

Tahno is suddenly reminded of his confrontation with the Ferrets in the alley, and how Bolin had managed to catch her up to speed about his little encounter with them, but of course she wouldn't have shared _theirs_. He sighs again, thinking it over, which only makes Korra more nervous. _A secret, eh? _He is a little thrown by this idea, that no one knows who she spends her time with, or _what_ she spends her time doing—_they have no idea—_but it shouldn't surprise him.

"There's just a lot going on," she repeats, and she's getting flustered. "I just have too much to worry about as it is and and and wouldn't this just make your life easier, anyway? What do you care if no one knows?"

"I don't," he responds immediately. And he doesn't, he reminds himself; this is what he'd come to realize only a few days ago, isn't it? _As long as she's there_. Granted, he wants to tell her that this is going to come back to bite her in the ass one day, because this kind of secret-holding is never a good idea, but _whatever_, he thinks,

because if _this_ is how she's going to spend her time waiting around for that firebending jackass—_oh, little girl, I can see right through your little white lies—_then it's not like it's a loss on his part, right?

"Right," she says, and he can tell that she's more than a little uncomfortable. "Your turn."

He takes a moment to decide on this one but, once satisfied, he says: "I'm not going to just sit around and wait for you."

But Korra needs to be sure. "You mean like... with other girls?"

"Generally speaking," he says levelly. It grinds him to the core to know that this is probably a lie of his own—_because it's not really like he'll be doing anything else, is it?—_and he hates the feeling of gratitude that washes over him when she doesn't call him out on it. "I'm not going to."

Korra lets the words hang for a moment in the air, testing them against the near-silence, and then she moves a graceful hand to brush the bangs back and away from his face. Her fingers are soft, feather-light touches against his skin, grazing along his cheek until they come to rest over his lips, waiting in invitation. She holds his gaze, and when she speaks, it is but a whisper. "I'm not going to ask you to."

With a slowness that is nearly painful, Tahno takes her wrist with his long fingers, gently twisting the palm until her hand relaxes in his his grasp and, only after ensuring that she is watching his every move, he then carefully presses a deliberate kiss to each knuckle.

"Good," his deep voice fills her senses, and her exposed skin tingles in the chilled air. Thoughtlessly, she licks her lips, and she actually sees his eyes darken a shade, watches as the blackness within the center widens. "Got any more?"

"Not at the moment," she breathes.

"Well, then," he says purposefully, and Korra knows that look in his eye. "It'd appear that we are all set."

"I—"

Whatever it was on the tip of her tongue, it no longer matters, because suddenly _he _is there instead, and even after minutes or hours or days of this kiss, they still can't seem to predict what the hell is going to happen next, and yet out of everything, this is what seems to make the most—_the only—_sense, in that they are here, now, with her back against the floor and his hands tangled in her hair.

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They do not emerge again.

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At least, not for many hours, and it is only the sky's warning glow of golden orange that finally compels Korra to pull herself away, and forces Tahno to let her.

There is a goodbye kiss, and another, and then some more, and it almost threatens to undo all the damage control that she's just completed, but eventually she slips out of his quick fingers with a trickling laugh, answers his devilish brow with a knowing smile and, finally, she is off.

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And this time, it is no question of when she'll be back.

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* * *

**End Note:** Narook totally sees her when she leaves, don't you worry. (And I bet you he also gives her a sly grin and to-go box full of noodles to take home, too.) And now, dear reader, I have a very important question:

ARE YOU READY FOR FLUFF?

ARE YOU?

BECAUSE I AM.

AND I HOPE YOU'RE PREPARED.

And before I go, I just need to give **a huge thank you to all of the readers who have left a review**, and an even bigger thanks to all of those who have been faithful, regular reviewers. This project really takes a lot of time and effort and planning, and even a quick word of thanks can make all the difference. :)

* * *

**NEXT INSTALLMENT:**

Arc III: **the high life** - _this is how we come together_


	6. Arc III : the high life : this is how i

**Author's Notes: **_6/25/12._

**FIRSTLY, CONGRATULATIONS TO ANYONE WHO READS ALL OF THIS. **

**I KNOW IT'S A LOT, BUT IT'S IMPORTANT INFO. PLEASE FEEL FREE TO READ THE INSTALLMENT AND THEN RETURN TO THESE NOTES.**

Heads up: I'm getting rushed for time. Ideally, I'd drag out every detail and make this arc (as well as the rest of _gray skies ahead_) last forever, but the reality is that I'm leaving the country in less than two weeks and I know myself well enough to understand that if this baby doesn't get finished before I go to Spain, then it won't be the same—_or might not even get finished at all!_—when I get back to the U.S. I am still riding out my feels from Book 1, and I want to take advantage of that while I can. Plus, in only a matter of days, I will be in Spain and English will become my secondary language of choice, so I may not even be able to get back into the flow of writing in English for a while yet, ha.

Now that work is done, my days mainly consist of packing, moving, preparing for Spain, running, hanging out with my boyfriend and friends, and writing. But even with all of my newfound free time, trying to finish out this part of the series as I've envisioned it is a pretty lofty goal. Thus, I'm afraid I'm going to have to condense things down a bit in order to (hopefully) finish in time. So the bad news is that this story won't be nearly as detailed and drawn out as I'd originally hoped, but the good news is that you, the reader, might hopefully not even know the difference; this is my new goal.

**FIC RECOMMENDATION: **Also, seriously, people: if you haven't read the Zutara fanfiction _Tempest in a Teacup _by **AkaVertigo**, GO READ IT. Even if you do not ship it, you cannot deny the beauty of that fic—I must have read it over and over again at least twelve times. I remember being _completely blown away_ the first time I read it, and for me, it is one of the fics that has _defined_ A:TLA fanfiction. It is one of the most gorgeous pieces I have ever read and it has had a huge influence on me and my writing. Please take a moment to go read it, or reread it, and to share some love with one of the most talented authors who has ever graced this site.

**DEDICATIONS: **This installment is dedicated to two (three) people.

Firstly, to **ebonyquill**, who has been one of the most thorough and faithful reviewers of this fic series through and through, even before she became my beta, and who asked for a bit of Asami & Korra friendship building when I offered her a gift!drabble. And secondly, to **Aicosu** (Hello, Sheila & Sylar!), who have spread so much love for these fics over the Aicosu livestream videos and garnered these stories so much attention through their recommendations. I've already thanked you two, but I can't help but say it again: Thank you!

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: **"Shh" by Frou Frou, "Let Go" by Frou Frou (ALWAYS), and "Heartlines" by Florence + The Machine.

**Beta'd **by the beautiful **ebonyquill**. Thank you for being there at all hours of the night as I _literally _pull out these chapters left and right. :P

* * *

_**the high life**_

_this is how we come together [part i]_

* * *

They establish something of a routine.

Now that Korra is no longer on the Task Force, she has more time to focus on training for her airbending and practicing her—_woeful_—meditation. She _knows_ it's important, but even as she sits down in line with the airbender kids each and every morning in the pavilion, she just can't see the _point_. Tenzin keeps telling her that it will be useful to her one day, that it could save her life the way it saved Aang's, and she wants to believe him, but it's just so hard to focus on keeping her mind calm and clear and focusing on the present when she sees _Tarrlok_ on the front page of the newspaper every morning. She wants to be doing something. There has to be something she can do. She just hasn't figured out _what_.

Airbending—_attempts_—in the early morning, firebending during the sun's peak, earthbending in the late afternoon, and waterbending late at night. This is her schedule. To the council and the White Lotus, to the acolytes, and to the press representatives who come hounding on their door each evening, these are the measures by which she spends her days.

But Tahno knows better.

In between the exigencies of her daily Avatar life, Tahno—_can pretend that he_—has Korra all to himself. The little things, the big things, over the days they all eventually wind together into a warm, fluttery sensation near her heart and soothing sense of calm over his; every sigh from her lips is a surge of his power and every fleck of hollow darkness to his eyes is a reminder of her renewed purpose. For her, every kiss is an opening, and for him, every touch is an affirmation of life.

And sometimes, they are able to pretend that they are just ordinary people living ordinary lives.

Sometimes they can forget and sometimes they can't. Lifetimes are made up of many moments, each one valuable, and Korra tries to remember this all the while. She tries to remember that—_even if you've lived a thousand lifetimes_—each moment is special, and should be revered equally.

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But inevitably, some are still more memorable than others.

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* * *

**1.**

"Avatar. _Chew_."

"I am!"

"Talking when your mouth is full doesn't count."

"Whatever, pretty boy, I've been surviving this way for many a year without your etiquette training."

"I don't know _how_. You eat like a starving cat-gator in monsoon season."

"What? What does that even mean?"

"You eat like a barbarian—_worse_ than a barbarian."

"But that expression—where did that even _come _from? Where did you say your family was from again?"

"I didn't say, actually."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you kidding? Where is your family from?"

"I don't see what it really matters. And besides, I'm sure you've already got your own speculations."

"Well, I, ah... hadn't actually given it much thought, actually. Though now that I think about it, after the Moon Festival, I guess I first assumed that you had some of the Northern Tribe in you. But your accent... Would it be safe to assume some mixed heritage? And the Foggy Swamp is the natural habitat for cat-gators. Is your family from the swamps then?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out."

"What! What's the point of getting me to spill all my theories if you're not going to own up to any truth in any of them?"

"If you're so curious, why don't you head over to City Hall and go dig up some information the good, old-fashioned way?"

"Are you suggesting I abuse my powers as the Avatar to investigate your family tree?"

"You're supposedly a pretty powerful authority figure in this city. And I'd hate to think my teachings in thinking creatively are all for naught."

"You are a terrible influence."

His sips his tea with a smirk.

"I try."

* * *

**2.**

"Well, why don't we head over to Narook's? I bet you're craving some home food like crazy."

_Shit_.

Korra's positive that her fake smile is cracking, but—_she knew something like this was bound to happen sooner or later_—she's actually getting the hang of this sneaking around thing, so she shrugs as casually as she can. She clears her throat to dismiss the tensions settling in the chords."

"Actually, I'm a little disappointed in myself for being so predictable with my food selection in such a diverse city... Why don't we try something new?"

Her breath quickens as Bolin thinks it over, and immediately she is consumed with all the alternative excuses she may have to conjure, but then there is a string of thoughtful nods, and it appears that this is good enough for Bolin.

"Makes sense to me!" he says brightly. "You know, I saw this really great place with _fantastic_ fire flakes on the other side of town!"

"Really?" she gushes, if only to hide her sigh of relief.

"Yeah!" he cries exuberantly, as a surge of pride flows through him. "So how about it? Oh—_hey! _Wait up! You don't know the way!"

They make their way through the crowded streets, enjoying the hustle and bustle of the market on a near-winter's day and the simple pleasure of each other's company. He appreciates these moments with Korra, in which he is able to share in all of her laughter and energy and friendship. Bolin has given up on the flowers and treats and dates, so they are always in a crowd, never completely alone, lest the awkwardness set in. The truth is that Bolin has noticed the changes in Korra lately; he's not so naïve as many would believe him to be, and he doesn't miss the sudden quietness during a conversation she'd normally take part in or the way she stares off into the water of the bay. Korra has been distracted lately, lost in her thoughts, lost in her own little world, and he knows it's not such a bad thing. She could use a break from the fast-paced life spinning around her.

Korra been there for him when he needed it most, and he had promised himself that he'd always do the same for her, whenever—_however_—she needed him.

"Bolin, look at this!" she smiles, calling him over to a stand that sells small, ridiculous clothing pieces for animals. "Wouldn't this be perfect for Pabu?"

"You're right!" he exclaims, twirling the tiny newsboy cap on his finger. "Why, it would complement his vest wonderfully," he adds, partly because it's true and partly because he can't wait to see her laugh. When she does, his smile widens and he can't help but take pride in knowing that he is one of the only people who can make her feel this way, who can make her feel this relaxed and carefree—_without even trying_. Despite her glowing aura and natural energy, since that night in the stadium, it has been so much more difficult to hear a genuine laugh spill from her lips without a little prompting... Can anyone blame him for trying? For the pride he feels in knowing the effect he can have over fostering her happiness, even if only for a moment? _Not even Mako can do that. _

_Well. Not as easily, anyway._

Bolin tells himself that he's gotten over what happened between all of them. _Hey, come on! It's been weeks, people! There is enough of Bolin's love to go around... and Bolin is no one-woman man!_He gets that the kiss outside the arena was a spur-of-the-moment didn't-mean-anything wasn't-thinking sort of kiss and he knows that they've all promised to keep it simple, but sometimes he can't help but wonder: If she were to forget his brother... If she were to come back to him...

Would he be able to say no?

"What do you think?" she asks, and he sees that she has adhered a fake pirate eye patch over her right eye, but it was intended for a flying lemur, so it is far too small and would fit much better over her nose, so he places it there. She barks out a tremendous laugh, partly because it's funny and partly because it tickles, and he thinks, _look—don't you see it? _

_Isn't this easy?_

But then she puts the patch back on the pile and rushes off to the next stand, calling behind for him to _keep up_, and he is left watching her trail ahead of him with a small smile on his lips and a promise at the back of his mind.

And after a moment, he follows.

* * *

**3.**

"Why do you hide your face behind such a stupid haircut?"

"Why do you hide your legs under such ugly, baggy pants?"

Korra immediately looks down; her eyes are full of fire, but her fingers pull at the fabric a little self-consciously. "They're not ugly!"

"Right."

"They're not!"

"Listen, Avatar: maybe when you wizen up and change your awful fashion habits, _maybe _I'll cut my hair. In fact, I'll go so far as to give you a tip: the only excusable item currently on your person is the waist-cape of fur, and I can assure you that the world would already be a much better place if that were the _only_ thing you were wearing."

"Is this supposed to be some sort of negotiation?"

"Consider my proposition seriously, and then we'll talk."

"Whatever," she huffs, toppling back over where he lays on the couch and relishing in the slight _oomf_ that escapes him as she thuds down onto the pillow of his stomach.

"Nice landing," he glares.

She wears a devilish smirk as she pokes his bicep. "It _was_; you're going soft."

He snatches it away, staring down his long nose at her laughing face, and she tries to breathe out an apology, but he doesn't accept, and he certainly doesn't find it funny.

"You know, I'm not even going to think about cutting it now. Just to spite you."

"What! No fair! You promised!"

"We had no deal."

"Ugh," she groans, laying her head back down over his chest in reluctant surrender, and his hand immediately comes to rest at the crown. "You make everything so complicated."

An amused brow raises, but it's out of her line of sight. "On the contrary. My desires are rather basic."

"More like _primitive_."

"Semantics."

"I'm just saying," she sighs into his shirt. The feel of his fingers in her hair is too good to ignore, and it is not long until her eyes flutter closed, relaxed. "I think it'd suit you."

He _hmms _noncommittally, watching her back rise and fall over his chest, and he pretends not to listen. But despite his apparent stubbornness, he drags smooth fingers down her spine and, without really knowing why, he silently promises to _consider_ it.

_And I'm not kidding about the waist-cape._

* * *

**4.**

"Hey, Bolin... you remember that Tahno guy?"

His ice cream is already melting too quickly, and his desperate attempts to lick away the liquid trails rolling down the sides aren't very successful. "That who what?"

"Tahno," Korra repeats. They're sitting on a bench along the boardwalk in the mid-morning air and, though she is licking a cone of her own, she doesn't really feel very much like having ice cream at the moment. "Of the Wolfbats?"

"Ohh, right, _that_ guy! Yeah, he's a nasty—"

"A nasty dude," Korra echoes hollowly as she stares down into her frozen dessert. "Right."

"What about him?"

"Well," Korra hesitates. She glances over to Bolin at her side, blissfully enjoying his messy treat, completely unfazed by the sticky fingers. "I've just been thinking... about all those who have lost their bending. I mean, I can't imagine how Lin must be feeling right now, what with her metal-benders still missing." Her head lowers, and the ice cream in her hand melts, dripping onto the wood of the docks. "I'm sure that Amon must have already taken theirs," she says quietly.

Bolin pauses his feeble ministrations to this cone and, at the sight of Korra's face, tosses the messy thing to the ground without a second thought. Korra watches with blank eyes as it rolls over the cement and through the railing into the harbor.

"Maybe so," he says quietly, but a warm wave of affection surges through her heart at the undeniable sound of promise held in his voice. "But we _will_ find a way to stop this, Korra. We'll figure it out together. All of us. It will come to us eventually." She looks up into his soft green eyes, and hopes with all her might that he's right.

"Sometimes I wonder," she whispers, but Bolin just shakes his head at her, smiling softly, like he knows some secret that she doesn't.

"Nah," he says with a shrug, and as he leans back into the bench. "When they need to be, people can be much stronger than they think."

Korra smiles. "You're right, Bolin. Everything will turn out okay."

_It will__, _she thinks. _It has to._

"Of course it will," he says exuberantly, and the light atmosphere that Korra hadn't realized she needed so badly has been restored. "Executive earthbender Bolin is on the team. That's all the reassurance you need."

"Sure thing, exec."

"Although... you do have me wondering about Tahno now."

Korra stiffens. "Oh. Actually. I'm sure he's fine, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess," he speculates. "But I mean... I know I already told you, but... he was in a _pretty_ messy state the last time I saw him."

"Oh. Well. I mean. I'm sure he's fine _now_."

But then Korra thinks of one _particular_ wrestling match, of the flying limbs and sharp elbows and illegal biting—_well, okay, those were mostly her fault—_and of the distance they'd covered while tearing themselves across the floor, the bed, the walls, spanning the entire length of his bedroom. She remembers the marks, the bruises, the swollen lips, the look of defeat—_Ha! Beat you, Tahno! Again!__—_and the exact moment in which the victor had claimed her prize—_gasps and heat and sparks exploding before her eyes._

She remembers the darkness in his eyes as he lay above her, the smirk of pride and satisfaction as his fingers danced across her bare stomach—_toying_ with her—and the feeling of heat pooling below her navel. She remembers the whimper she couldn't fully contain, the quiet plea for _more_ as his fingertips drew small patterns in her skin, dusting lower and lower, _but never low enough_. She can still see it in her mind, the moment that she decided that _she couldn't take it anymore,_ and took hold of his hand, silently begging with her eyes while leading the way. She can still feel the hardness of the floor beneath her skull, the heat of his fingers hovering over her, _so close_, and the ache between her thighs as she pulled his fingers lower. She can still hear the cry that tore from her lips—_Tahno, __please_—as she pressed and tightened her grip on his unmoving hand, and the infuriating, delicious sensation of his laughing breath ghosting along the shell of her ear as he _finally_—

And Korra realizes just how uncomfortable she is, sitting her on the bench next to Bolin after such a comment, because _that's pretty much the state he was in the last time she saw him, too._

"Hey. You going to eat that?"

* * *

**5.**

_Go, go, go—now! Before anyone sees you!_

Korra slips over a rock wall near the back of the island, grunting as she lands a little less gracefully on her feet than she'd hoped for. _Stupid airbending. A little help would have been nice! _All she has to do is make it to her room and find that mirror before anyone sees her and she'll be—

"Korra! There you are!"

The Avatar freezes on the spot, limbs stuck with shock as the feminine voice glides out over the air. "Asami!" she calls out unevenly, and she knows her welcoming smile must be dreadful. Korra slowly turns, willing herself to _relax, no one knows, just keep calm, don't say anything stupid, she doesn't suspect anything, just stay calm and—_

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Asami laughs gently, approaching the ledge of the gardens where Korra remains, stiff-as-a-board.

"Oh," Korra laughs, and she sounds far too nervous for her liking, so she clears her throat. "I'm sorry. I've been, uh... out. Avatar stuff."

"I know, and I don't mean to interrupt you," the beautiful girl with dark hair apologizes, but her eyes turn serious, and the blood begins to drain from Korra's face. "I just really need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah?" Korra fidgets nervously and has to tuck her hands behind her back to keep them from shaking. "What about?"

Asami bites her lip and looks away, eyes filling with embarrassment and hurt and shame—_Oh crap, she knows, she knows! She knows about the kiss with Mako!_—and breathes a deep breath just as Korra begins to feel her knees buckle.

"Asami, I can explain everything—"

"Korra, I hope this isn't presumptuous of me, but—"

They each pause mid-way, and while Asami looks sheepish for the first time ever, all Korra can do is release another breathy, nervous laugh. "Uh, sorry," Korra blurts, and she has half a mind to run for it, but she doubts that would be the honorable thing to do. She coughs once more, stands a little straighter, and vows to be mature and level-headed young adult that she always says she'd like to be; now is just as good a time as any to accept her consequences. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

_Crap. I'm going to die._

"It's all right," Asami smiles softly, and this is where Korra gets even more confused because why is _she_ the one looking guilty? "I just wanted to apologize."

To say Korra is taken aback would be an understatement. "For what?"

"For jumping to conclusions," Asami explains, and her voice is so sincere and apologetic and pleading and _what—what is going on? _"You know... I have to admit I was a little worried, after what Ikki said when we first got here. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. I should have just trusted you both, or at least confronted you about it before, but.. with everything going on, it just didn't seem like the right time, and to be honest... I really didn't want to bring it up either, myself. But I know now that there's nothing going on between you and Mako. So I'm sorry."

Korra blinks. "You mean—_ah_—well... I don't... I don't know what to say."

"And you don't have to say anything," Asami smiles, but Korra's mind is just one continuous stream of _shitshitshitshitshitshitshit. _

She, Korra, was a horrible person. She was quite sure that there wasn't anything else that could make her feel worse. "Asami, I—"

"I feel really terrible about it," Asami cuts in, and her eyes are soft and hopeful and—_shit, I'm going to burn in the spirit world for this_. "And I mean, I like you. And while I wasn't going to let any jealousy affect my opinion of you, I have to admit that it's kind of nice, knowing now that there's nothing to worry about."

_Tell her! Tell her the truth!_

"I just wanted to let you know that," Asami finishes, obviously feeling more at ease with this weight lifted from her shoulders, while Korra only feels another one piled on.

_Oh, for the love of—why does she have to be so nice? It's not fair that she's already perfect enough as it is but now she has to be nice and forgiving and accepting and—oh my god, I kissed her boyfriend and he kissed me back and even if it didn't actually mean anything because he is so obviously more into her than into me and whatever, that doesn't excuse anything—fuck, here she is, pouring her heart out to me in apologies when I'm the one who should be owning up to something and, hey, where the hell is Mako in all of this? Why hasn't he told her yet? What kind of boyfriend is he, anyway? Running around and sneaking about and omitting important life details like kisses with somebody that you shouldn't be kissing—_

Wait a minute.

"Asami... how... how did you come to that conclusion, if you don't mind me asking?"

Her vibrant, green eyes flash with a purely feline stare and her confident grin makes Korra feel just the slightest bit woozy. _Gah, no wonder Mako likes her so much_. But then Asami's eyes drop down to her collar, then jump back to Korra's alarmed ones with a knowing glance.

"I know, Korra," she whispers.

"Wh-what?"

"I've seen the way you've been acting over these last few days," Asami's smile widens. "I know that you've been running off to someone."

_Yep. I'm done for_.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't be silly," Asami laughs a gentle, reassuring laugh. "I'm happy for you. If anyone deserves somebody to lean on, it's you. And don't worry: your secret is safe with me. The boys won't have a clue!"

As soon as Korra has managed to disengage herself from the conversation and has climbed her way back into her room through the window, she rushes to the mirror, and tears her collar away from her neck. What she sees there makes her gasp: a red splotch of color, the unmistakable work of Tahno's skilled tongue, _just_ large enough to peek over the line of fabric.

_What the fuck! _He'd said she was all clear! _Dammit, Tahno!_

She can just see him now; he's probably sitting at the spot by the window with a cup of the tea she had brewed for him before he left, just staring out into the bay, laughing to himself as he imagines all of the _hilarious_ discomfort she'd no doubt wind up with, until she finally noticed his practical joke and healed it.

_That sly bastard!_

That's it. First thing in the morning, she's buying him a new mirror.

And then he's going to _pay_.

* * *

**6.**

"It's name is Yue Bay."

"What?" she asks, surprised; it'd been so peaceful in the quiet of his room, lounging together on the seat by the window sill.

"You're always staring out over it, but you never call it by its name," Tahno shrugs.

"Oh... I hadn't ever learned it. Thanks, I guess."

"Just my daily attempt to lessen some of that ignorance," he teases, poking her shoulder.

"Oh, perfect—just in time for your daily _beating_."

"Ow!"

"You asked for it."

"Whatever. Just trying to help. Besides, you seem partial to that spirit."

"I'm not exactly the spiritual type. And even if I _were_, well... I'm the Avatar; I'm not supposed to favor any spirits over the others."

He smirks into her hair, but has otherwise let the matter drop, and for that she's grateful. She threads her fingers through his and leans her back further into his chest, and Tahno looks back out the window, continuing their quiet gazing at the city skyline and the people-watching of all of the small figures below.

"If you say so," he whispers.

But she is already back to falling asleep.

He can sense the exact moment she drifts off. Her breathing slows, her spine softens, her neck grows heavier, and she becomes a warm deadweight nestled comfortably over his chest. For years Tahno has understood and accepted the degree to which he has enjoyed being the best, being wanted, being _desirable_... but in spite of—_or perhaps because of_—all that has happened to him, there is something especially delicious in being wanted—_needed_—by the most wanted.

He looks down, gently brushing away the loose hair from her face and _there is something rather addicting_, Tahno thinks, about having the world's most powerful creature lying contently in his arms.

* * *

**7.**

"Tighten up," he orders. "You're getting sloppy on the pivot."

Korra glares and mutters, "Sloppy on the pivot, my _ass_."

Right jab, left cross—the _whoosh _of unleashed heat—hook, jab, _duck, _uppercut, block—_the war cry that comes after the feeling of a flame that's come too close—_

"What's the matter, Mako?" she taunts. "Retirement's not making you rusty, is it?"

"You wish," Mako calls out haughtily from the other end of the training circle. "What's _your_ excuse?"

"You little—"

But he dodges when she expected a strike and she moves left when he'd assumed right, and the next thing you know, there is a _slip_, and from there its falling limbs—_a grunt and a cry and a collision of bodies_—and they are sprawled across the mat, water pinned down by fire with arms and legs tangled in a twisted heap.

Korra tries to groan, but there is a heavy burden pressed over her lungs that is making it near impossible to breathe. For a moment, everything spins, even with eyes closed, and it is hard to remember where she is and _why am I on the ground? _But then she begins to recognize the feel of a being wrapped around and under a strong set of shoulders, and against her control, as if running on memory alone, the heat seeps down into her belly, and the smallest of whimpers passes through her lips.

The raw sound that comes from above her is pained, quiet, restrained, and _that_ is not what she is used to. When she opens her eyes, _that_ is not the face she expects to see, and her body jerks, torso lifting slightly off the floor as her muscles spasm with shock, brushing her nose against the one hovering directly above her, and when she—when _he—_gasps she can taste the salt and charcoal on his skin.

But that _twitch_, that flicker of movement at her hips, that hardness pressing into her thigh, that _is_ what she is used to, and this is when the realization begins to sink in, and then they are scrambling away from each other like mad.

It is no surprise when they decide to cut the day's training short.

And neither is it when Korra arrives at Tahno's apartment that night two hours early—all teeth and bruising fingers and hot mouth—all the while telling herself that what she's doing, what's she's done, _it isn't wrong._

* * *

**8.**

"Are you serious—you've _got_ to be joking!"

"You seem a little taken aback, Avatar."

"That is a _blatant_ misuse of—of—and after everything you accused _me_ of! To use such a controversial technique on something so trivial—so inappropriate—"

"So inconvenient?"

"Well, if it were such a nuisance, perhaps you should have strengthened your healing abilities in the first place! Or better yet, _mind your mouth_ a little more carefully—then you wouldn't have had to worry about _abusing_ a_ sacred _form of art just to bloodbend away your _hickeys_!"

"Maybe so, but I'm afraid it has always been a little more easily said than done... Care for a demonstration?"

"_Tahno_. I'm not going to change my mind about this. I don't approve of using it outside of emergencies, and definitely not for something so stupid. And it's illegal!"

"Avatar... who said I was still talking about bloodbending?"

"You are _such_ a sleaze."

He laughs as he pulls her back against his chest and even as she falls into his arms, she still can't believe it.

"And _you_ simply can't resist."

* * *

**9.**

And there are times, even still, when she manages to catch him off guard.

"Can I?" she asks with a soft smile, but before she even bothers to wait for his answer—_it's_ _yes, anyways, it's always yes_—she crawls across the bed to where he sits against the headboard, straddling his waist and nestling comfortably in his lap, and reaches over and runs her fingers through his long bangs. He is tired, and he wants nothing more than to pull her down to the bed and doze off with her in his arms, but the softness in her eyes is too bright to look away from, so he trails warm hands up her thighs to rest at her hips, heavy fingers just brushing the indentations of her lower back, and feels the movement of her breath. But still, her presence is so calming that he thinks he might fall asleep, even sitting here like this, upright against the stiff wall with her in his lap and her fingers in his hair.

But then she brings the strands of his dark hair closer to her eyes, examining the healthy, natural shine, and lays the ends across her upper lip, scrunching up her face with a serious tilt of her brow and an even more serious pout, all to hold the hair in its newfound place as her very grave, very makeshift mustache.

He stares at her for a moment, thoroughly astonished and yet entirely unsurprised, and whispers with a dumbstruck kind of awe, "You are ridiculous."

She holds the face for a two full seconds longer, even intensifying the glare a smidgen with a powerful stink-eye, but it's too much, and she finally bursts out laughing. The effect is inevitably broken, and he can't help but release a sigh of something similar to amusement himself, but then she is coughing out her laughter because a stray piece has stuck to her tongue and crap, she thinks she's swallowed it, but it's okay because he calls her an idiot and holds her chin gently in his hand as he carefully plucks the rebellious strand from her lower lip, and she tries her best to hold still for him even when it tickles, even though he has to scold her a few times for it, even though this only makes them both laugh harder, and soon it is gone and replaced with his lips, and look, they've made it back down onto the bed, after all.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

**End Note: **Fun fact: Yue Bay? _Canon_. Really. Go look it up! I nearly died.

(And can we all just take a moment to appreciate the fact that _Sokka_ was probably the one who named it?)

By this point, you may or may not have noticed my slight obsession with honoring her memory. If you love Yue as much as I do—IMPOSSIBLE, I SAY—or if you are interested in seeing some of my older Yue-centric and Yue/Sokka/Suki works _(Warning! Warning! Sixteen-year-old writer-in-the-making!)_, you should look into _Twenty Things_ and _Moonlit Facade__. _And if you like those, I'd also recommend _No Such Thing As A Beautiful Goodbye__, _which is mainly Zutara, but has a bit of everything, including Yue. But be careful... I tend to specialize in angst. D:

Aaaaaand, ironically, now I'm off to write more Tahnorra fluff.

* * *

**NEXT INSTALLMENT:**

Arc III : _**the high life **__- __this is how we come together [part ii]_


	7. Arc III : the high life : this is how ii

**Author's Notes: **_6/30/12._ I feel it's important to note that I love all of these characters—Korra, Tahno, Bolin, Mako, Tenzin... everybody! Although I may have mixed feelings depending on the day, and though I may portray them a certain way through the eyes of the other characters in this universe, I personally love them all to death.

Please remember that this fic is essentially just a venue for me to pour out all of my shameless headcanons. :P I will not pretend to utilize proper grammar, so bear with me. And in case I haven't mentioned it before. **Korra is eighteen in this fic**. Which reminds me: **IF YOU DIDN'T SEE IT BEFORE, MAKE SURE YOU SEE IT NOW: ****RATED MATURE FOR A REASON****. **(Happy reading. ;D )

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION:**"Shh" by Frou Frou and "Distance" by Christina Perri and, perhaps most importantly: "Heartlines" by Florence + the Machine. I know I always say this one, but... I mean it this time. _Really_.

**Beta'd** by the beautiful **ebonyquill**.

ALSO. **I hereby declare myself the luckiest author in the world**. **Niolynn** has drawn an absolutely gorgeous, smoldering illustration for _dirty little secrets_. Please go drool over it here:

niolynn tumblr com [/] post [/] 25868911218 [/] break-the-ice-is-becoming-a-doujinshi-guys

* * *

_**the high life**_

_this is how we come together [part ii]_

* * *

**10.**

"Whatever," she huffs, flicking his bangs away from his face.

They settle back down onto the bed, Korra with a pillow tucked between her arms and under her chin as she lay on her stomach, and Tahno to her right, on his back against the mattress. It is a rainy day, which only exacerbates the late afternoon chill, but that hasn't exactly discouraged the disarray of the various pieces of clothing strewn across the room.

"Enough distractions," she shoves his shoulder, none too gently, and he stares down at her hand, affronted. "It's your turn to ask a question."

"You started it."

"I did not! You instigated it!"

"And what's more childish—the fact that I baited you, or the fact that you took it?"

"You..._ you_... I still can't believe that you are supposed to be _older_ than me."

"Life is full of difficult truths."

"I mean, seriously. You can't tell me that this is the maturity level of a self-respecting gentleman."

"Well, with _your_ questionable maturity level aside... there's really no room for judgment unless you have some basis for comparison. Are you saying that you've found yourself in the company of many to begin with?"

Tahno had only meant to tease her—_it was __fascinating__ to see how long it could take her to realize that he'd brought them round in circles once again—_and he'd been prepared for either a serious_, _perhaps even defensive note about Tenzin or maybe a scornful jab at the Councilman-three-braids-what's-his-hair... So he is wholly unprepared for the sudden appearance of _quiet Korra_, the one who bites her tongue as she mulls over her words and tilts her head at just the right angle—_the one that she thinks makes it impossible for him to see her blush_.

The Korra who refuses to look at him.

"You _have_," he muses, and—_despite this twisting sensation that gives a sudden lurch in his gut_—he releases a low, rumbling laugh. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Explains _what_, exactly?" she fires, rounding on him, and all of her half-successful efforts in letting the soft lighting of the room wash away the tinge sweeping across her cheeks are now completely in vain.

Tahno's voice is a measured calm, careful to maintain all of the finer nuances of his usual arrogance. "A lot of my unanswered questions about where all of your... _expertise _comes from."

"I don't recall you asking in the first place," she bites, and even now, as she stares him down with unmistakable irritation, Tahno can take a moment to appreciate the delicious curve of her jaw. "You've had plenty of opportunities. Why continue to speculate when all you needed to do was ask?"

"I thought the whole point of this little exercise of yours was equivalent exchange," he smirks up at her, and she's ready to shove him off the mattress for not making any sense, once and for all, but he continues. "It isn't fair to ask a question for which you, yourself, do not have an answer worthy of sharing," he replies slowly, eyes on the ceiling, but held by something far away. "And _my_ experience has never been much of a mystery."

She is still flustered, but his words do something to deflate her anger and, in spite of herself, Korra snuggles closer into his side.

"Is that your question then?"

_Is it? _He wonders. After all... He may not like the answer. _It could be the firebender. _

"All right then," he says slowly, aiming for flippant. "What kind of male company have you kept before you were treated with the misfortune of enjoying mine?"

She plays with the loose threads at the lines around the edges of the sheets. "Well... I'm guessing that you've already caught on to what's been sort of happening between Mako and I." She's looking at him, watching for a reaction, but he remains stoic because he's not about to let her know. "But... with regards to what you're _really_ asking about? It hasn't been like that. With Mako, I mean."

He is already thinking too much into the regret and longing in her voice, and as the sickening feeling in his stomach tightens, his mind is in an uproar because—didn't he already tell himself that he didn't care about it, as long as she was around? _She's using him, he's using her, that's all it is_—but then he realizes that she's not quite finished.

"There have been more then?" he asks curiously, and he clenches his fists when he feels his fingers starting to shake. "Before Republic City."

"There was only ever just the one," she admits quietly, biting her lip.

He tries to make a joke, because the room is too heavy, and he is uneasy and wishing that he had just kept his mouth shut and never asked in the first place. "Some southern tribe heathen, then?" he asks a little caustically, a little mockingly, because this is getting too personal, and he wants to know but he almost wishes she would stop, because he's not really all that sure that he deserves to hear this.

"There are a lot of young men in the White Lotus not much older than I am, you know."

She glances to him with worn eyes, and—_he's known it for a while now, but he is continually reminded each and every day of just how much of a little girl she is __not__—_once the implications have set in, his tongue feels thick, and his head feels a little light.

"I haven't seen him since I left the south pole," she says softly. "Things between us ended long before I left for Republic City, but... he was my first."

"Isn't that forbidden?" he asks quietly, watching her expression.

Her gaze drops to where her hand lays over his chest, where her fingers trail lazy patterns across the lines of his collar, and her eyes are distant, lost and clouded with the hazy storms among the ocean of gray outside his window.

"It is."

* * *

**11.**

She says it jokingly, but in truth she's curious.

"What are you talking about?" he eyes her speculatively, and _crap_, now he's got her feeling foolish for mentioning it, but she_ knows _she's not crazy; there's no way she can be making this up out of nowhere.

"Come on... what _is_ it with you and my hair?" she tries again, strengthening her voice and her laugh; she feigns nonchalance, but her eyes are sharp and watchful.

"What about it?" he shrugs. Tahno lifts a hand through the ends of her ponytail—which will probably be released from its hold as soon as they make it past the door to the stairs after breakfast—and smirks. "Still annoyed that mine is once again better than yours?"

She should be annoyed by his obvious taunt, but instead she only feels a strange bout of disappointment well within her. She's not sure if he's purposefully playing dumb, or if he really _doesn't_ notice—_maybe I __am__ crazy—_but either way, she already feels silly enough as it is, so she shrugs in return and decides to let it go.

"Never mind."

* * *

**12.**

"You look like hell," he mutters, though his voice is thicker with amusement than it is with scorn.

"Well, thank you," she bites out viciously, though the effect is tempered by the natural squirming that happens once the disgusting feeling of grime and caked mud begins sliding down her spine. "Nice to see you, too. You know, I don't recall ever taking this much enjoyment out of tormenting _you_ about the messes I found _you_ in."

But he isn't listening. "Avatar, what in _hell_ were you doing before you got here?" And then he actually _chuckles_ at her muddy misfortune, which means that she is positively livid by the time the door closes behind her. "Couldn't you just bend all this off?"

"I _tried_, but have you seen this rain?" she spits impatiently, feeling more than a little foolish. "I hate all of these Satomobiles... spraying up mud everywhere like it's nothing. You know, the least Hiroshi could have done before he went crazy and became an Equalist sympathizer is create some sort of barricade between the streets and sidewalks," she rants, and Tahno merely watches on, highly entertained. "Naga's not going to be able to get the mud out for weeks."

"She should take a dip in the bay," he quips, laughing silently as he pulls a piece of mud from her eyelash.

"Believe me," Korra fumes. "She's already four steps ahead of you."

"Well, you're not staying in here like _that,_" he tells her sternly and _oh, there's the scorn I was waiting for._

"Tahno, you can't be serious! How could you have expected me to stay clean through all this mess?"

"I didn't," he inches more closely to her, gesturing impatiently for her to take off her boots. She complies, but not without a few grumbles and glares, and finally she stands tall, just a few inches shorter than before, with her bare feet cold on the floor. "But you're still not rolling all over my apartment looking like a badger mole."

"So what do you expect me to do?" she huffs, crossing her arms—and instantly regrets it because _ew_, _there's another layer that I didn't see before_.

"Lucky for you," Tahno replies smoothly, hooking an arm around her waist, heedless of the mud, and leans his head down over hers. "I'm guaranteed hot water for another two hours... And I was just about to take a shower."

_Oh._

The hair is—_always_—first, and soon the decorative pieces are falling to the bathroom floor. The furs at her waist follow not long after, followed by his shirt, followed by her top, and more and more falls to the floor as they peel back and strip away the layers that separate them. Her skin is still damp from the rain and the chill of his apartment raises goosebumps over her flesh, so she presses herself closer against him, trying to absorb some of the heat radiating from his bare chest. Tahno trails warm hands up and down her arms, rubbing away the cold from her skin as he leans to the side, twisting the faucet with a jerk, letting the water flow free, and he has barely reached his full height before Korra is back on him, lips crashing forward onto his.

Tahno spins on the tiles, forcing her back against the wall, and he enjoys the gasp that escapes her lips almost as much as he enjoys the way the waves of steam twist and curl around her bare shoulders. The fog is filling up the room with its inescapable heat, and as he ghosts gentle fingertips just above the line of her bindings, hovering over the swells of her breasts, and he watches the trail of goosebumps that follow with rapt attention. He glances upward, holding her gaze as his smallest finger drags along the line of fabric holding her chest in place and, making sure she sees the look in his eyes, gives a gentle tug. She leans back up for another kiss, halted half-way by the pressure he's placed on her hips against the wall, and beckons him forward with her eyes. He obeys, feeling the moisture of the air carry over into their mouths, onto their skin, between their lips, and he cannot deny the sudden urge to _taste._

He breaks the kiss with a harsh breath of his own, feeling his lungs warm with the rising steam, and as Korra manages to open her eyes—_heavy lids in the heavy hea_t—Tahno has shifted backward and is already beginning to unwrap the fabric, fingers encircling her frame as he makes careful work of revealing the skin beneath, inch-by-inch.

Korra is not nearly as patient, and as her lungs heave with the thick air, as beads of moisture begin to gather at her brow and her clavicle and just above her breasts, she tugs Tahno forward by the open edge of his pants, and tears them down as far as she can reach. When her wrists can extend no farther, she hikes up a knee, latching onto the hem with an impressively dexterous foot, and presses the clothing to the floor, out from underneath his feet. His work falters for a moment as her shin grazes something _particularly_ sensitive, and a soft groan escapes him as her calf brushes over his thigh. He stares down at her with something like accusation in his eyes, and she smirks, bucking her hips against his, reveling in the moment that his fingers _slip_ from their hold on the fabric at her back. Tahno breathes in the scent of her skin, lips gliding along the ridge of her collarbone as her head rolls back onto the wall, and with a pant-come-growl, he rips down the fabric at her waist, leaving her legs bare and exposed. The mud from her arms and her neck and her hair is streaming down her skin in rivers now, staining the pristine white fabric at her chest, still half-undone, and smearing over the smooth, pale skin of his chest and shoulders and neck.

With agonizing care, Tahno slowly removes the rest, pressing flush against her to keep her still, but there is little more than a flimsy layer or two between them now, and as his hardness rolls over the flat of her stomach, she wantonly arches into him—it is getting so hard to _breathe—_releasing a dulcet moan as the heat of his fingers reach low to steady the small of her back, and the next thing she knows, the bindings have come loose, and there is fabric falling free and down into the senseless heap at their feet.

His hands remain where they are, supporting her lower back as she bends away from the wall, but they tighten and flex along the curve of her spine. The urge to close her eyes and fall back into his hold completely is nearly overwhelming, but she is desperate to see his face. Slowly, she shifts her heavy head to look where his mouth hovers, just inches away from the sensitive flesh, and she bites her lip to keep from groaning aloud. He is watching the movement there intently, lips sucking in the moisture of the room _so close_ to where she needs them—_but not close enough_—when he hooks a finger along the edge of her final piece of clothing, and supporting her weight with one hand as he slowly, slowly drags it down and over her hips, down her thighs, past her knees, until it slips, and gravity takes care of the rest.

She is completely naked before him, skin weeping with sweat and steam and streaked with mud, leaning back against the wall with his hand supporting her weight at the small of her back, eyes clouded with lust, head dizzy with heat, lips parted with shallow, shuddering breaths, and she realizes that she has never felt more desirable.

"Tahno," she breathes. There is an ache that has been building between her thighs for too long, and if he would _just_ shift the tiniest inch to the side—

But the thought is lost to a blinding surge of heat that strikes through her; in a flash of movement, she is pinned against the wall, suspended high above the ground by his hips, and his hot mouth has closed over the hardened flesh of a nipple. She cries out, feeling the ridge of his cock through the only remaining fabric that separates them, feeling the onslaught of tongue and slickness mingling with the sweat, and as the backs of his fingers trace the underside of her other breast, her lids squeeze shut against the sensations. She is panting wildly now, heart pounding in time with the thundering shower head, thighs trembling with the effort to maintain their hold over his hips—

And then he thrusts forward, and all trace of thought disappears.

Korra is mostly aware of the fact that she is being carried into the shower, already wet and slick and naked and sliding in Tahno's mud-streaked arms, and as her feet are set firmly onto the floor of the tub, she looks up at his hungry eyes, face framed by lines of mud left by her traveling fingers, and feels an overwhelming sense of power coursing through her. He pulls her to him once more, directly into the downpour, and as his hands slide over her shoulders and ribs and hips and back, smoothing away the dirt and grime, gliding over her breasts whenever he pleases, he devours her mouth with a longing that threatens to pull out her world from under her. When he brings his fingers to her scalp, brushing away the bits captured in the strands as he combs his fingers through the locks, he sprinkles kisses over the bridge of her nose, from one cheek to the next, pressing his lips to the hollows at the corner of her jaw, just below her ear, and when he senses a jittery movement at her neck, he brushes away the dirt at her collar, then traces the shell of her ear with his tongue, and plunges it into the sensitive space behind. Whether it is the wetness of it or the accompanying hot, breathy laughter, it doesn't matter, because Korra releases the most delicious undignified squeal, and Tahno is left smirking into the mostly-clean space at the back of her neck.

"You are such an ass," she laughs into the water, blinking her eyes against the steady stream, and she lets her face contort with an irritated scowl as her punch doesn't quite land on his slick shoulder as she'd hoped.

"If you insist," he drawls, playfully nipping her bottom lip.

"Speaking of," she says slowly, as realization dawns, and she wonders if he can hear how low her voice has dropped, how gravelly it has become. His eyes lose the glint, darkening to the shade of _predator_, and she thinks that he must have. "Want to explain why I still can't see yours?"

He doesn't glance down to the fingers playing with the fabric clinging to his hips, instead choosing to watch her eyes change as well, wanting to see every moment play out over her features. His voice is low and deep and rumbling when he suggests, "You're more than welcome to take matters into your own hands."

Korra has to shut her eyes for a moment, has to take a second to think, to clear away some of the fog clouding her mind, but when she opens them he is still there, panting heavily against her mouth, eyes glazed and dark and filled with lust and desire and need, waiting for her to move, wordlessly encouraging her to act, and Korra realizes again for the second time in these few minutes that there is a kind of _power_ spreading through her limbs in this moment, and an incredible urge to seize this power prickles at her senses.

It is _exhilarating_.

Experimentally, keeping her gaze locked onto his, Korra drags her fingers down the lines of his abdomen, her breath catching over his as her fingernails snag along the firm and solid muscles beneath the water, and she curls her fingers into the waistband, thumbs dancing dangerously low. With searing eyes, Korra lowers herself to her knees on the tub, relishing in the tremor she sees crawl up his spine. With knowing, predatory eyes latched onto his, she carefully pulls the shorts down and over his knees, and Tahno's groan echoes against the tiles. No longer constricted by the tight fabric, his cock spills out, hanging hard and erect just above her mouth, and as Korra looks up into his eyes, feeling the water trickle over and between her breasts, down her stomach and into her the space between her thighs, she has the inescapable urge to—

"Korra," he gasps, tangling a hand into the strands at her temple to keep her from bridging the gap of that one last, final inch. He has to swallow twice to make room for the words, but his tongue is thick and his cock is throbbing and he can feel her little puffs of air spreading over the head and he's got to be a fucking moron, but there is a tightness wrenching in his gut because _she always comes first_, and _this is not how they do things, _and what the hell, he's hardly a gentleman anywhere else in life, and he'll be damned if he's going to forfeit this one modicum of decency. His fingers curl in her hair, trapping her where she kneels below him, mouth parted skyward as she moistens her already slick lips and _fucking hell—_

"Ladies first," he rasps between pants, managing a twisted smirk, but his limbs are already trembling.

Korra stares up at him, unfazed, and—with a slowness that pulls at him like a magnet, with movements so deliberate, so unhurried that the first drops of his pleasure are already leaking from his tip by the time she looks back up at him with those big, glossy, blue eyes, so careful that he is convinced there is _no_ possible way she could be ignorant of the full effect of her actions—she raises her fingers to the nape of her neck, gathering the wet mess of strands in one swift movement, and curls her hair onto itself, bundling it into a twist that she fists tightly in her grasp, and looks up.

She rises slightly, her breath ghosting over the head until her lips are a mere fraction apart, and then with knowing eyes, she takes his hand and places it at the back of her skull, holding her messy hair in place. The breath he releases is broken against the cascade, and as she speaks, as her lips move over the sensitive head with purposeful care, his brows knit together with the force of his restraint, with the force against the instinctive urge to let his eyes close shut—

"Not today," she whispers against him.

And then her tongue is wrapped along the underside of his base, slowly underscoring the length of him—and now it's simply too much, _too much_, and his head falls back against the tile, eyes squeezing tightly as pleasure rocks his frame, and her hand falls away, leaving him to keep her hair from filtering into her eyes—and then she is dotting kisses along the hard, hot flesh, her full lips leaving tingling sensations in their wake, and by the time she makes it all the way back to his tip, gentle mouth and teeth sliding up and around to his head, sucking the heat off of his skin, he is full-out gasping for air, his skin flushed with heat, muscles coiled with anticipation, jaw slack and lips parted with need, core filled with _craving_, eyes glazed with lust, and then she smiles against his tip, her tongue delicately darting just under the slit as she licks her lips.

"_Korra_," he spits, glaring down at her, tightening his hold over her hair, and then his mind runs blank when her lips slide over his head, a primal groan lost to the thundering shower as she takes him into her mouth and—

* * *

**13.**

"You have to admit it, Korra." Bolin's voice is light and unassuming, but she can hear the plea for understanding underneath. "Yeah, the whole thing is awful—but it's a _clever_ comic strip! I mean, the non-bender Equalist sympathizers are always putting stuff like this in their newsletters. And the Wolfbats aren't the only ones who have gotten picked on! There was a whole bunch of stuff attacking the Triple Threat Triads and "Lighting Bolt" Zolt after he lost _his_ bending, you know?"

"Is that supposed to make it any better?" she spits, and the edges of the crumpled newspaper in her hands begin to smoke and curl.

"What? No!" Bolin says quickly, and the apology quickly leaks through. "I'm not saying _any_ of it is okay. It's terrible. I'm just saying that—given what we know about what a nasty jerk he was before the match—it's a pretty witty play on words! I mean—it's _Tahno_, formerly of the Wolfbats! You can't deny the accuracy of the representation."

Korra swallows, but the words still scorch her throat as she say them aloud. Her voice is deadly quiet, seething with anger and injustice and vengeance and something else that she's not quite ready yet to explore. "Bolin..."

_The only thing he'll be bending from now on is the rules?_

For a moment it looks like he's willing to try again, but it never happens. Bolin deflates before her very eyes, his over-sized spoon falling into his cooling soup as he releases a heavy sigh, but Korra is already wound too tight. "Yeah. It is a little much, isn't it? Even if he _was_ our rival once."

"A rival, yes, but he was never an enemy," Korra retorts. "People keep thinking of life as benders vs. non-benders and benders vs. other benders, but we're all on _the same side_. At least... we're supposed to be. Tahno—and and the Wolfbats and the rest of the benders who have lost their abilities, and even those who have never had bending in their entire lives—they're _all_ on our side, too. But people have been so blinded by our differences that we've been at odds for ages. _This_ is really what's at the core of what Amon is saying... the belief that bending makes somebody any more powerful than anybody else—but he's wrong; bending isn't what makes somebody powerful. And the second we forget that—the second _we_ start turning our backs on each other—is the precise moment that Amon will have won."

Korra tells herself that Tahno is better now, that he's strong enough to handle a few stupid jokes from a few misguided cartoonists—_just a few people among many others who might mean well but are just running scared and looking for an easy fix for an easier life, looking for an easy, vindictive laugh_—and she even bets that, if he were to see it, he would make some blasé comment about how lame it is or say something lewd and sarcastic like _I'm one of them now, aren't I? They least they could do is give me a proper send-off—there are plenty of things I am much more apt to bend over—like women, for example. _In fact, he probably wouldn't think much of anything about it at all. He'd probably take one look at it and laugh, then tackle her down to the bed and tell her that she's been an idiot for getting so worked up over it—_so come over here and bend for me, woman_.

_Right_, Korra thinks. She's probably reading too much into it.

But that doesn't mean that she doesn't run to Narook's the second she leaves Bolin's sight and throw every copy of the independent _Equalist Sympathizer_ newsletter wedged between the pages—_all fifty-seven of them_—straight into the dumpster.

* * *

**14.**

"Tahno," she whispers, tentatively calling into the darkened apartment. She really should have just gone straight home; it's late and already dark, and Tenzin will be expecting her within the hour, but she couldn't help herself from stopping in, just for a moment. _And besides, Narook was right at the door, and it's not like I'm not going to give the key right back as soon as I—_

"Tahno?" she tries again, when she receives no response.

Convinced that there's nowhere else in the world he could be other than his apartment or the dingy nighttime space of Narook's restaurant below, Korra gently closes the door shut behind her, wincing as the soft thud turns into a jarring _click_, and quietly steps forward. It's nearly impossible to see in the pitch blackness of the room, but she knows the exact spot on the ground where Tahno likes to throw his shirt, and she remembers that the floorboard to the right creaks, so she sidesteps to and fro, cautiously making her way through the apartment as her eyes adjust.

"Tahno," she says a little louder, a little more quickly. _Could he really be asleep? Already? _A positively devious grin spreads across her face at the mere thought, and she quickens her steps to the bedroom. _Well, we'll see about that. _She has to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back the laughter that threatens to bubble over once she peers around the bend.

But he isn't there.

"What the hell," she mutters under her breath. "Where is he?"

_Could I have missed him downstairs? s_he wonders, but immediately discards the thought; there is far too large a crowd in the bar, and though he has never openly admitted anything about it aloud, she knows that Tahno isn't quite ready to face the rest of the world just yet. _Maybe soon_, a distant voice whispers as she blinks away another layer of the darkness. _But not yet._

"Tah—"

She is caught off guard by a sound from behind her, by the tell-tale shifting noises of movement on the sofa, and she spins on the ball of her foot, mid-step, toward the the open room down the way. _Fell asleep on the couch_? she surmises. "Typical," she scolds under her breath, and her smile slowly spreads back into place.

As she creeps toward where Tahno lay, her eyes began to regain some of the many details that the darkness had originally taken from her sight; he is on his back, sprawled across the cushions in what Korra simply refuses to believe is a comfortable position, and he is so deliciously vulnerable with his bare chest and all of his sensitive skin just waiting to be touched that she can't help but think again of how ticklish he is—_because when a man is as ticklish as Tahno is, it is a daily struggle to think of much else, beautiful chest or no_—and Korra remembers that the opportunities to act upon _these_ playful impulses are so few and far in between—_because payback is a bitch, and his quick fingers already know all of her weak spots—_and with so little time at her disposal, she is concomitantly torn between ice-bending him awake or tickle-bending him into oblivion.

But as she comes to a crouch at the space near his head, weight resting on the balls of her feet, she notices what she hadn't noticed before.

"Tahno?" she whispers urgently, reaching out a hand to hover over the horrible, pained grimace carved into his face. The chest she'd been privately admiring just a few moments before is quietly heaving with shallow, labored breaths, and even as her fingers smooth across the deep creases of along his brow, she cannot erase them completely. "Tahno, wake up," she urges him, placing a steadying hand over his heart, as if she might somehow calm it, while the other brushes the sweat-soaked strands of hair from his eyes. "Tahno, wake up! You're dreaming, it's not real—"

He gasps awake with wide eyes and a fierce, guttural snarl, a knee-jerk reaction borne from muscle memory and the remnants of the dream, but there is a hand still on his chest, and it is already gently pushing him back down.

"Tahno," she whispers softly, and she hates the fear in her voice, because she's certain that it can't be doing anything to help his. "Tahno, it was just a nightmare. It's over."

But it many ways, she sees that it is _not_. As his hazy eyes shift in and out of focus, Korra is faced with a horrifying realization.

This can't have been the first.

And a new wave of uncertainty floods her: For how long has Tahno been having nightmares? Has he been suffering from these nightmares_ this whole time_? His breathing is still uneven, but the stiffness of his spine has been released, and his shoulders sag back against the armrest, falling back against the fabric with a soft, disheartening thud. _How could he never have said anything?_ she wonders incredulously, as she tries again to smooth the lines marring his face. "Tahno, look at me."

He is not quite with it, still at the fringes of his private hell, but the small, soft hand on his chest is unmistakable—_he would recognize this girl anywhere_—and though his blinking does nothing to clear away the fog in his gray eyes, he sinks back into the couch, wavering gaze looking up to where she kneels above him. "Oh," he says quietly, but his voice is still hoarse with sleep and is lost to the residual haze of the dream. "It's you."

Korra isn't aware of the lump in her throat until she tries to swallow it. "Yeah," she whispers soothingly, dusting her shaking fingertips across his cheek. "Yeah, it's me."

To Korra, it sounds like Tahno is laughing under his breath, but this only worries her more; it's clear that he is still lost in the limbo state between waking and dreaming, and with a shaky breath, Korra steadies herself for what she's about to do. She helps him upright as she stands, and after a bit of shifting—and grunting, though that's mainly on her part—Korra and Tahno slowly make their way back toward his bedroom. He is barely half-awake, which means that he is only a quarter-able to help shift around his weight, and Korra is vaguely reminded of one night with a dumpster and a bribe and a bathtub. She wasn't kidding the other day when she'd told him that he was getting soft—he's still lean and sturdy and strong, but he isn't moving the way he used to, as often as he used to—and she supposes that she should be grateful that there is a little less of him now, though _you would never know it by the way I still have to lug his deadweight around_.

She tries to drop him onto the mattress as carefully as possible, but he isn't quite alert enough to brace his fall, and at the displeased grumble that eases from his lips as his head awkwardly rolls back onto the pillow, a guilty Korra immediately sets about adjusting his limbs as best she can to make it more comfortable. Her mind is still a little preoccupied by what she has discovered tonight and the implications behind her having only learned about it _now_, accidentally, quite possibly without his realizing it yet, and she doesn't know how she's going to find the right way to bring this up—or if she even _should_—because look at all the things they have never talked about, the things they keep passing over, the things they keep pretending haven't _happened _by some unspoken rule, even though some days these things are literally all she can—

"How is it always you?"

Her fingers freeze where they rest on his cheek; the air she's holding in begins expanding, pushing against the walls of her lungs with a burning need for escape, swelling until it presses against her frantically-beating heart, but she has forgotten how to let it go. His eyes are still closed and she's convinced that he is closer to sleep now than he has been all evening, but it is only when his sleeping face turns away from hers that she is able to finally exhale. Cautiously, she places her hand back over his beating heart, trying to regain some semblance of the strength she'd believed she had when she first arrived; it proves to be more difficult than she'd imagined.

"Tahno," she whispers, but her voice rings with apology.

She has to go; she's been staying out later and later, and the nights are growing shorter with the winter cold, and she'll only be able to keep this up for so long if she isn't careful. She takes one of his hands in hers, careful not to move too quickly, lest she wake him entirely, and brings it to her cheek. "Tahno, I have to leave now," she tells him quietly, and even though she knows he won't hear her, not really, she can't help but ask—_perhaps more for herself than for him_, "Are you going to be okay?"

_You shouldn't leave him_. _Not like this_.

"Tahno?" she whispers again, when he mumbles something incomprehensible.

"The beach," he mutters into the heavy space between them, and just because Korra has leaned in close so that she may hear, it doesn't mean that she understands.

"What?"

"The night on the beach," he whispers through long, quiet, even breaths—the fingers she holds in her hand brush against her cheek, across her skin, into her hair—and she _knows_ what he's referring to, yet he's still not making any sense.

But she's running out of time, so much so that she's going to have to run home to get back before it's too late, and this, too, feels too familiar—_slipping out into the night in the silence_—so she reaches down and leaves a promise to be back in the morning; her whisper fills most of the space between them, and her goodbye kiss seals the rest.

But this time, when the door shuts behind her, he isn't awake to hear it.

* * *

**15.**

He's quieter today—less vocal, more subdued—and though she reminds herself that he isn't actually a morning person, she has a feeling that it has more to do with what happened—or what _didn't_ happen—the night before.

Korra hadn't gotten very much sleep either.

After hours of twisting and turning and tossing it over in her mind, Korra decided that it wouldn't be right to bring up the nightmares—at least not yet. As much as she wants to ask—i_s dying to know, actually_—there must be a reason for why he hasn't told her. So much of what they are is based on secrets, and _it isn't fair_, Korra thinks, to ask him to share before he's ready, to ask him for more than he's willing to give. He'll tell her eventually.

She hopes.

So when Korra arrives the next morning with a cheery smile on her face that she doesn't feel _at all_ and a secret promise to try to erase the damages wrought by the night before, she expects him to be short with her, and irritable, and tired and groggy. And he is.

But she hadn't expected him to still be quite so alert.

"Ah," he says perceptively, sparing her a cursory glance. His voice is gravelly with sarcasm and lack of sleep. "So it's not just my company then, that draws you here?"

_Crap, _she thinks. _I should have worded that more carefully! _

"You already know how I feel about this food," she smiles uncomfortably, stiffly holding up her spoon.

But the look he gives her is flat and dry. "Well, at least you'll be well-fed while you play your little run-around game away from your friends."

Korra can see the bags under his eyes clearly, without any help from the horrid overhead lighting, and she tries to remember the creases and lines distorting his face and to ignore the way the words—_anger, hurt, embarrassment, __truth__—_cut through her.

"Tahno, it's not like that," she tries to explain, setting her spoon in her bowl. "It's just getting tricky, you know? The others have been living with us on the island for a couple of weeks now and it's not a particularly _big_ island, if you know what I mean and—"

"Sometimes you just need to get _out_?"

She pauses, feeling a little alarmed at the relief that fills her. "Exactly."

But it seems that the morning light has made Tahno even less of a forgiving sort of man that he usually is. "Well," he says tonelessly. "So glad I could offer up a refugee camp for your recovery."

"Tahno," she begins hopelessly. She has no idea what else she can say. And though Tahno has _plenty _of things he can say, there aren't very many things that he actually wants her to _hear._

"You have to know how they see you," he says impassively, but Korra can see the meaning in his eyes, and she knows that _he_ knows just _who_, exactly, it is on the island that she is trying to escape from.

And why.

Korra takes a sip of water to mask her inner turmoil. On the one hand, she feels embarrassed and put on the spot and a little foolish, but a stubborn part of her is determined that he's wrong because_ he has Asami, and who in the world will actually see __me__ when I'm standing next to __her__?_ But on the other hand, his words, however intended, still give the tiniest sliver of _hope _that he might be right. She's still a little self-conscious, still a little insecure—_half-baked Avatar_—and while she would love to immediately take his words to heart, to believe that Tahno might be right, _to do something about it_, she also realizes the selfishness of such thinking, and further...

What Tahno might be implying about how _he_ sees her too.

"Are you... are you mad at me?" she asks after a long moment.

At first he says nothing—simply plays with his glass in all of the familiar ways that make her heart ache—but then he sighs a heavy sigh, and looks her over with tired, tired eyes.

"No," he assures her quietly. "I'm not."

But Korra isn't satisfied. There is suddenly a measure of distance between them—some barrier that she doesn't remember rising—and she wants to tell him everything: the terror she feels every night when she sleeps alone in her cold, dark bedroom, the haunting mask that visits her each and every time she closes her eyes, the fact that _I have nightmares too, Tahno, I do, you can tell me—_and her feelings for Mako—how they don't make _sense_ to her sometimes, but she feels them, she does, she can't help it—but she cares about _him _too, and she wants to help him, if only he'd let her—

"What can I do?" she whispers across the table.

_What do you want from me?_

And then with a slowness that nearly kills her, Tahno drops his gaze to her lips... but the cold in his eyes is nearly palpable and suddenly she feels it, too.

"Nothing," he says dismissively, placing the empty glass between them. "Forget it."

* * *

**16.**

"I don't get what you want me to say."

The pit that had been forming in her stomach since she first awoke this morning, the one that has been hardening since she left the island—_the one that she thought might eventually fade away once she came here_—it literally _drops_, and she can feel it sinking to the very bottom of her soul.

"I—nothing, I guess," Korra says tepidly, willing this feeling to go away.

While the meditation pavilion had been home to her thoughts for many a week, she's recently gotten into the habit of sitting at the ledge of the cliff that looks out over the water—_over Yue Bay, straight to Aang's Memorial_—and letting her thoughts run away with her confidence and her patience and her hope, until all she is left with is her self-doubt and mounting pressure and the realization that time is quickly running out, and yet, she has done absolutely _nothing_. She is not an airbender. She is a _half-baked _Avatar. With the world against her and with all the support in the world, she somehow still manages to find herself in the empty space of the cliff overlooking the water and have _this _empty, hollow feeling worming its way around her heart. _Always, always—_

Alone.

"I wasn't really expecting you to say anything," she elaborates, because she knows that her first response wasn't very clear, and because _she's already sat with the silence for too long tonight_. "And if you did, I wasn't expecting you to—to _s ugarcoat_ anything or whatever. I just... I just needed to say it, I guess."

Because, eventually, the stress of not being able to understand the warning messages of your spiritual predecessor coupled with—_the only thing worse than—_not being able to prove your new ally-turned-adversary wrong—_half-baked—_while having to face it each and every day with those who are most relying on the fact that, someday, you will—_I'm a spiritual failure, too_—and still having no fucking clue when your sworn enemy plans to strike—_I will destroy you—_

It can start to do things to your mind.

She hadn't really planned on coming here tonight—she told Tenzin that she needed to get _out_, and he must have seen something in her eyes, because he didn't question, and it wasn't too hard to lose the single White Lotus member he sent after her—and though she didn't know where she was going, she knew that she wasn't in any sort of state to be around others, so she didn't really plan on coming straight here—but she did—and she certainly didn't plan on falling into his arms as soon as he opened the door, of bringing him down with her as she collapsed to the floor with a deep, shuddering breath, or the relief that flooded through her tired veins as he held her tightly to his chest, shocked and fearing the worst, and asked _what happened?_

And she really, _really_ hadn't planned on telling him.

But she did.

One hour and a deluge of Avatar insecurities later, and they are still on the floor, with her back against the wall and his elbows over his knees, and it is suddenly hard to face him.

"So... what does your airbending master have to say about all of this?"

"I... haven't exactly told him yet. I mean, he already _knows_. Most of it, anyway. But there hasn't been much else to say lately."

She glances up to where he sits across from her, and despite the overall, general sense of shock that has pretty much permeated his aura since she first appeared, he seems... contemplative.

"Yet... you've told _me_."

The question in his voice seeps out into the air between them, unrolling thick across the floor like an old, battered scroll, exposed and vulnerable in the open light. A part of her wants to pull back, to make a run for it—_but it's too late now_—and she doesn't _want_ to second guess this. She needed to get it out, and Korra doesn't entirely know _why_ she wanted to tell him, but she did—she _does_. She knows this now—must have felt it all along—but the realization has only just started to set in. _I want him to know._

"I needed to tell _someone_," she begins, still trying to figure out how she's going to form the words properly. "And I mean, Tenzin already has so much on his shoulders—"

"So you tell me because I'm convenient?"

"What? No!" she says quickly, throwing up a pair of shielding hands. "I just..."

"Look, Avatar," he sighs and she can tell by the set of his shoulders that _oh no, he's totally thinking about this the wrong way. _"It's fine, all right? Just forget I said anything at all. You should... you should go find one of the ferret brothers or something—"

_But how to make him understand?_

"Tahno, when I first arrived to this city, everyone had something to say about me," she spits out in a rush, quickly overpowering his words and completely derailing his train of thought. "Whether they were happy to see me or happy to see me fail, everyone expected _something _from me. Even you."

"So what?" he asks after a moment, and he sounds exactly as he looks; a little confused and a little defensive.

"Because of everyone in this city... because of everything that was expected of me... I always had to maintain my role as the Avatar. The Peacekeeper. The fair and unbiased savior. I mean, I still do, but... Do you have any idea how refreshing it was not to _care_ about someone's opinion of me?"

"You're referring to mine, I presume."

"And I don't mean 'not care' in the way that people say they don't care when they really _do_ and are just trying to hide it; I mean that when we first met, I honestly couldn't have given a fuck what you thought about me."

"Well. If this conversation didn't just get real."

"Tahno, I'm serious. I didn't _care_. I'd loved reading about you for years, but after seeing how much of a disgusting, sleazy jerk you were in person, even if you were a talented fighter, and a strategic genius, I had absolutely no respect for you—"

"Yeah, I got it."

"So when you made those perverted insinuations and started trash talking like a—"

"_Got_ it, Avatar."

"It was so liberating," she whispers, and he has to take a moment to wonder if for all of her intelligence and quick wit and common sense, she might actually be totally daft. "So... _ref__reshing_, like I said. I mean, things got... after—after what happened, but... in that moment? Here in the bar? It was the first time I'd felt that way. It's hard to explain... I wasn't about to let you under my guard, but... even still."

He sits barely a foot away from her on the floor, feeling his joints clash against the hardwood with all the force of gravity and tiredness and the total inability to move away from her—_he'd lost count of how many times he'd tried_—but she is looking up at him with _blue, blue _eyes and nothing can overshadow the sick lurching sensation he feels in his gut.

"I didn't have to put on act in front of you," she tells him.

He swallows hard, and when he feels his fingers begin to shake, he clenches his fists. He flashes a cocky grin, slides down a taunting brow, and tries to play it off. "So you liked that you could be the mouthy little hell-raiser all you wanted and not get in trouble, is that it?"

She blinks. "Don't you see? It's more than that. I didn't have to impress you. I didn't realize it at first because I didn't want to believe that there might actually be more to you than just what you showed everybody with the eyeliner and dark clothes and stupid hair—"

And because _defensive_ is such an easier role to play, he spits, "Are you planning on going somewhere with this? Because I—"

"I didn't have to pretend with you, Tahno!" she cuts in, and the frustration rings out so clearly in her voice that he actually shrinks back; what was supposed to be a single, deep calming breath becomes two, but—_however quietly_—she is finally able to say what she's been trying to say all along.

"And I don't want to have to pretend with you now."

Her bangs are in her face and her eyes are glazed with unshed tears and he must be an idiot, he thinks, for still being where he is now, a lifetime away from where she sits against the door, his eyes wide with disbelief, but he _still can't move_, and—_quite honestly_—he's more than a little afraid of what might happen if—_when—_he does.

"That's why I told you," she whispers quietly, eyes locked onto his and—_this is the perfect moment for him to reach out, to move—_but he is still frozen to the spot in front of her when she sags even farther down along the frame.

Tahno takes a deep breath, trying to remember what he'd been doing before she burst through his door, or if it'd been important—_he nearly laughs aloud at the thought—_and trying to recall what the hell it was that _he _worried about during his waking hours, but _oh_, that's right—_it's her_.

He jerks slightly, like part of him wants to go to her, but the rest of him is still rooted to the spot, trapped by some invisible force that he can almost name—_doubt, disbelief, fear of change_—and as she drops her head forward onto her knees, as her eyes drop to the space on the floor between them, the pressure in his chest constricts painfully. He can already see her beginning to curl in on herself.

"Weakness isn't exactly an admirable trait in an Avatar," she says quietly.

And it is finally enough.

There is a sigh, but there is movement, and with unsteady, aching limbs, Tahno shifts his body closer to hers, easing himself by her side against the door. He's taken too long, he knows, because when his ribs brush against hers she is cold and unresponsive, staring blankly at the open space of where he no longer is, so he puts an arm around her and gathers her into his arms, slowly sliding her over his thigh until she is situated comfortably between them, and pulls her back against his chest.

He gently lowers his chin atop her head, and his tired voice asks, "Is it admirable in anyone?"

She looks down at the arms that have wound their way around hers, feels the heart beating warm and steady against her shoulder, and _yes_, she thinks a little sadly, but she can't get out the words.

_It can be_.

"At least people expect something from you," he tells her quietly, and the words almost get lost in her hair. "Even if it's nothing."

In spite of herself—_her anger, her frustration, her pain_—she is confused. "What do you mean?"

"How many times a day do you think someone thinks to remember Tahno of the White Falls Wolf Bats?" he asks a little disdainfully. With a sneer, he marvels at the selfishness still lingering within him, at the realization that he is still capable of turning something like this into something about _him_, but hey—_that's why she comes here, isn't it? To get lost in my problems instead of her own? _

"Tahno—"

"At least, without the help of a cartoonist or two," he adds as an afterthought, and the feel of his breathy laughter tickles her scalp. At the stiffening of her spine, he bends down to place a soft kiss at her ear. "I still found them, you know," he whispers there, and her eyes widen further. "Though Narook told me that your efforts to prevent it were rather impressive. I'm sorry they were in vain; I hear it was quite the task."

"Tah—"

"What was I, really, before pro-bending?" he asks, breathing against the space behind her ear. "Think about it. Who am I, if not the fighter?" And he laughs another bitter laugh; it is sharp against her skin. "I'm nobody."

"Tahno," Korra says quickly, and she wonders why her voice feels broken. She tries to turn around in his grasp, to face him, but he holds her tighter, preventing her movement. "That's not—"

"You are a fighter, but you are also a healer. You are the Avatar, but you're also Korra."

_You are so much more_, he thinks.

"I don't... I don't understand," she breathes, undeniably soothed by his warm hands, yet somehow still more frustrated by his words than ever. _Don't you see? _"You are _more_ than just a former Wolfbat or an ex-pro-bender or a—"

"A waterbender?"

And her heart skips—_completely and utterly __skips_—because this is the first time either of them have said the word aloud.

Talking of bloodbending hadn't seemed real. It'd been more like a distant, far-off thing that might only exist in another realm_—in another nightmare_—and even when they'd joked and laughed and pretended not to care about the implications or the consequences, the word _bloodbending _seemed to pour from their lips with an eerie sort of ease. But _this_...

This is different.

"People talk about bending like it's something you _do_," Tahno says with a hollow voice. "I used to. Even at the height of my arrogance about the state of bending's degeneration, I still spoke of bending as if it were a _thing_. But it's not. It's who you are. It's in your soul."

"But your soul has—"

"You feel it in every breath," he whispers into her ear, and she tells herself that the deep and shaky waver to his voice isn't real, that it's all in her mind. "In every raindrop, in every wave... in every sip. It's like the world is more alive."

Korra's shut against the memories of her own nightmares—_the ones in which she fails, in which she falls, in which everything is lost_—and is privately grateful that she was able to keep _these_ from him, if nothing else.

"Katara always says that water is the element of change," she whispers, threading her fingers through his.

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_Maybe it's time for yours. _

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"Maybe so," he whispers back.

This is how they remain for some minutes, with the Avatar and the former waterbender sitting on the hard, unforgiving hardwood, wrapped up in each other, fighting against the cold.

"I'd wondered what's been bothering you," she admits. Her fingers begin to draw small circles along the long lines of his palm—_she feels loose flesh slide beneath her fingertips as he tears his hand away_—and she swallows. "You haven't seemed like yourself lately."

The short bark of laughter escapes him before he can check it, but he merely holds her tighter when she tries to face him again. _At least she's partly right_, he muses.

"I've been thinking about what's supposed to happen next," he confesses, and he hopes that she takes this at face value. "Bending's not really in the cards for me anymore."

Korra traces the ridges of his palm, smallest finger catching along one near his knuckles—_his heart line_—and she feels her pulse quicken inexplicably. "Got any ideas?" she ventures, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He smirks into her hair. "A few, yeah."

"Care to share?" she asks, nestling into his chest. She wraps his arms around her more closely, and—_I doubt he remembers_—she places their intertwined hands—_just so—_over her heart.

Tahno shakes his head slightly, not knowing where to begin. "I've always been a fighter. That's got to be good for something. Maybe an announcer."

Korra tries to imagine hearing Tahno's voice on the radio—or worse, echoing out through a huge stadium at a pro-bending match—and she can already _see_ the hoards of fangirls. "Why not a different kind of fighting?" she suggests.

His brows knit together. "Without bending?"

"Think about it," she smiles softly, trying not to let herself get carried away, lest she push him from the idea. "Even Fire Lord Zuko—one of the most powerful firebenders alive—is a master swordsman."

"Are you suggesting I try to pick up broadswords?"

She settles deeper into his arms as the most _enticing _images float through her mind. "Just a suggestion," she mutters innocently, but he can see right through her.

"A suggestion, _indeed_," he nips her ear, smirking terribly when she yelps and squirms in his grasp. "I see what you're trying to do here."

"You have to admit," she smiles lazily, and _this_, she thinks, is what she's needed all along. "It would have its benefits."

"I'm not so sure I'm convinced that _I'm _the one who'd be benefiting most," he teases, and it's almost enough to make them forget.

Almost.

But eventually the silence creeps back into their senses; it is a peaceful kind of quiet, a welcome sort of calm, but it heightens the awareness all the same, and soon the lightness that had washed over them begins to fade away.

"What will you do in the meantime?" she asks tentatively.

He shrugs. "What else is there?"

Korra opens her mouth, but hesitates. "You could... you could start training with me." Tahno glances down at the girl in his arms and suddenly Korra is glad that she can't see his face.

"_What_?"

"Think about it," she urges him. "You want to learn a new skill, but why not teach _me_ all of your old ones in the meantime? I've learned from Sifu Katara—the absolute _best_—but all I've known for years are the teachings of the old ways—the traditional styles. One of the reasons I was so drawn to pro-bending was because of the modern, dynamic style, and though I've been able to pick up what I can, there is still so much I have to learn. And I should be learning all that there is to know about bending, you know, from anyone I can, in order to be the best, most well-rounded Avatar I can be—"

"Well, for starters, Avatar, try airbending in a breath or something," he places two hands on her shoulders and _when did I manage to turn around and face him? _"And calm down."

"At least consider it," she begs, fisting her hands in his shirt collar. "Please, please, _please_."

He looks wary. "I don't see how this is a good idea."

"Of _course_ it is," she urges. _This is what you need. What we both need. _

"For _you_, maybe," he says sullenly, leaning back away from her into the wooden door, and his voice is hard again. "You should have taken advantage of the opportunity when I offered."

She wants to _shake_ him, but she wants this so badly she can taste it, and she knows that the situation is delicate. "What would you have taught me?" she asks softly, curious.

"What would you have liked to know?"

"Did you ever learn to heal?"

"Not the way you have," he says quietly. It sounds caustic, but she can hear the admiration within, and she thinks that this may be the closest she'll ever get to a compliment on her abilities. Or a _thank you_.

"I want to do this," she tells him seriously. "And so do you. You were willing to teach me before."

"What's teaching without demonstration?" he counters reasonably.

But she sends him a sly look. "Tell me, Tahno... when you offered up those _private lessons_: did waterbending really have anything to do with the _demonstrations_ you had in mind?"

And when his eyes darken a shade and a fiendish tilt curls his lips, she knows that she's won.

"We can stick with the fighting or try something new. But it doesn't matter right now," she smiles softly, and then she is wearing a devious smirk of her own. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and decide _exactly_ how to spend our evening when we get to it." And for the first time in what might be days, she sees Tahno relax completely.

He smiles.

"Whatever," he huffs, rolling his eyes, but there is hardly any venom. "I guess there's only one real problem left here."

Korra blinks. "What is that?"

His smirk nearly takes her breath away. "Whose face will you use for target practice now?" he asks playfully, eyes dancing, and despite the lighter air—_even though there is blood in his mouth at the very thought_—simply because he can't resist, he suggests, "Maybe your friendly firebender?"

Korra blushes, then deadpans. She glances quickly to the glass he'd left on the nearby shelf before he'd answered her door, and—without warning—she bends a handful of water from his cup into his face. She laughs as the rivulets drip down into his eyes.

"Yours will still do the trick," she taunts, pressing her face closer to his. He blinks at her between the globs seeping into his eyes, and _oh crap, oh crap, I know that look, that look is dangerous—_

"Cute," he says impassionately. And then—

—and then it is a mad dash for the safety of the covers down the hall, but his fingers are too quick, and Korra can't hold back the yelp that escapes her as his fingers close around her ribs—_because to try to contain it would waste precious energy_—and she pushes and kicks and bites—_Korra, what did I tell you, for the love of the spirits, enough with the illegal biting—_but his hold is too strong, and she ends up dragging him halfway across the floor before she finally wriggles out of his grasp, laughing uncontrollably all the way. But he is much quicker than she is and he blocks her path before she's even realized he's gone, and—_the patrons downstairs must think the worst—_because they _both _sound like maniacs now and just when she thinks she's made it, that she's escaped, he swoops down and picks her up, supporting her knees and her neck as best he can while she does all _she_ can to squirm out of his grasp—_and he wonders why the hell she hasn't realized yet that she has the perfect opening to that one particularly sensitive spot on his neck—_but he's not about to inform her of her tactical error, so he kicks the bedroom door shut behind him, and all but throws her onto the bed. She blinks as she falls back onto the soft covers, momentarily confused by the lack of warmth and the bouncing of her limbs, but by the time the daze leaves her eyes, he is already standing over her with that _look_ in his eyes, and she scoots back away from him on the covers, the raucous laughter pouring out of her in loud, nervous gasps as she tries to think on her feet—_but she can already feel his fingers on her, and her brain is shutting down_—and soon she's not going to have much of an opportunity to fight back, but she'll be damned if she goes down without raising a little hell, and now it's too late, too late, because he is closing in and—

Their training will start tomorrow, she thinks vaguely, feeling light and young and happy, and in meantime she is—_shit—_terrified out of her mind because he remembers _last _time, and he's not going to go easy on her now, is he—

"_Payback,_" he says dangerously, smirk set firmly back into place.

And as he stalks closer—_she tries to lash back out, reaching for his side, but he catches her wrist, locking her in place_—and even before she feels her back hit the bed, before she feels his fingers flex, she knows she's done for.

* * *

**17.**

It's been sitting in his hand for maybe close to fifteen seconds now, bright and shiny and new, but Korra still doesn't understand.

"I had Narook make you one," he says with a small shrug, and when she still doesn't make a move to take the item from his hand, he extends it a little farther.

"But," Korra begins, trying to choose her words carefully. "I remember you saying that you refuse to make any spare keys... That it's a waste."

His tone is flippant, and his shrug is even more careless than the last, but there is an edge to his voice that Korra spots easily... if only because she feels it, too.

"It just makes sense," he says.

She glances down to the key in his palm, trying to consider every angle thoroughly, but then she almost laughs aloud because—_come on_—there is so much being said through the act of handing over this tiny, seemingly insignificant scrap of metal that she could probably sit here and mull over the implications all day if he'd let her—_if she'd let herself_. But he has never been much for patience—_not unless her pleasure is involved, of course_—and she's a little impatient herself, so she forgoes all further investigation of how this key might speak to the changing nature—the security, the consistency, the show of _trust_—of _whatever it is that they are_, and gently takes the key from his hand.

"Well," she says quietly, and once she sees how quickly the tension has been released from his shoulders, she finds it a little easier to breathe as well. "Just to be safe... I'd like to make sure that it's in proper working condition, if you don't mind."

A sly brow raises knowingly. "I suppose that's fair."

"Well, then," she smiles. "Let's go test it out."

Korra takes him by the hand and, even though he runs to keep up with her, she still ends up nearly dragging him halfway up the stairs.

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And _this_, Korra thinks,

is what she's needed all along.

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* * *

**End Note: **I just have to say really quickly that a lot of what I write is inspired by my favorite songs, beautiful fanart, or from personal experiences. I need to take a moment to share two pieces of such fanart, entirely unrelated to this fic series, completed by a very talented artist, which essentially motivated me to include a very particular headcanon of mine (note: tickling). Many of you have probably already seen them, but either way, please go visit the DeviantART gallery of **Yuki119** and check out the two pieces titled "You and Me" and "Laughter." Once you see them, you'll know what I mean.

Also. I have another very important question, dear reader:

Can you feel it?

Do you _know_ what's coming next?

_DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA?_

_(Why don't you take a guess?)_

* * *

**NEXT INSTALLMENT:**

Arc III : _**the high life **__–__ too close_


	8. Arc III : the high life : too close

**Author's Notes: **_7/1/12_. Thank you so much for your patience! You've all waited so long, so I won't bog this notes section down with anything but this: I read all of your reviews and I appreciate every single one with all my heart. Please remember to leave a review when you have finished. :)

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION:** "I'll Be Your Lover, Too" by Robert Pattinson even though it really has nothing to do with anything except for the fact that I love the way it sounds and (one of my all-time favorites, though I usually reserve it for SasuSaku) "What We Will Never Know" by Innerpartysystem.

**Beta'd** by the beautiful **ebonyquill**.

* * *

**the high life**

_too close_

* * *

"You know, when you said last night that I'd finally get those private lessons, I didn't think..."

Tahno eyes her expectantly.

"I just thought..." Korra flounders momentarily, then blurts, "This isn't what I had in mind."

He eyes her from across the wide-open rooftop, leaning comfortably against the building's ledge, and smirks. "What? You can't honestly tell me you were expecting something a little more... orthodox."

"Well," she retorts, arms tightly crossed. "Even with your questionable insinuations aside, I didn't think it would be _this_."

"And what is _this_, exactly?"

Korra scoffs. "A crash course in breaking the rules?"

For a moment, there is only the caress of the slow breeze swimming lazily through the early night air. The moon is rising high and nearly new, a faint gleaming sliver against the backdrop of darkness and stars dulled away by the lower city lights. The chill has undoubtedly strengthened over the last hour or so, and for a second Korra actually feels a twinge of regret for refusing his jacket so staunchly... especially since there's no way her pride will allow her to ask him for it now, not when she'd made such a big deal about not needing it—_and what was it, really, _she thinks sourly, _that I was trying to prove?_—and especially not when his eyes are smiling. They seem to ask, _Did you forget who you are dealing with? _

He stands then, tall and lean and fluid with his shoulders tossed back, his fingers flexed and curling, his stance strong, and for a startling moment, Korra thinks she almost might have.

"Evasion is all part of the game," he replies smoothly, sending Korra reeling back from her thoughts. His brow tilts smugly when he notices the way she watches him shrug. "Confusing the opponent, gaining the upperhand—"

"I asked for help with _waterbending,_" she insists, leaning forward while keeping her feet planted firmly onto the rooftop; she has the sneaking suspicion that her defensive stance might be more for the sake of regaining some sense of mind than for the sake of her argument. Regardless, she hisses: "Not how to cheat!"

"You trust my bending insight, or you don't," he jibes in turn. "You do, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Why, Korra... do _you_ feel cheated?"

She glares. "Do you feel clever?"

"As much as ever."

"I'm beginning to see what you mean about this being a bad idea," Korra grumbles crossly, still standing near the opposite ledge. "If this is what you're planning on putting me through, then maybe I'd be better off learning waterbending from Beifong. Or just handling these lessons all on my own."

"Yeah, well," he mutters darkly. "Something tells me you already know a thing or two about cheating."

Korra blanches. "What?"

Tahno offers her a strange expression. "It was meant as a compliment," he says slowly. "I told you before that you would have fit right in with the Wolfbats... I bet you only play fair because you're used to letting those ferrets talk you into it."

"Oh," she says quietly. _Right, Korra, _she berates herself mentally. _Stop jumping to conclusions. Stop being so __jumpy__.__ He didn't mean anything by it. He doesn't know about me reading his file in the police station. He still doesn't know about the kiss with Mako. He—_

But Tahno is making his way across the roof, eyes lit with meaning, and with a decision made so quickly that she doesn't even remember it consciously, Korra's already ready to let him lead her. Tahno comes toward her, stopping just out of arm's reach, and Korra clears her throat. "But seriously, I don't get it. You're going to teach me how to cheat? Again, _how_does this relate to waterbending?"

"What, you think Amon is going to play fair? Or anyone else for that matter?" he asks her seriously, critical brow slanted shrewdly. "Besides," he whispers then, low and deep and sensual. "It's _water_—playing dirty is kind of the point."

Korra huffs a deep sigh, and roughly shoves his devious face back a few inches, feeling too jittery to let him see the goosebumps that have risen over the skin of her arms. Tahno chuckles as he stumbles back—_but he's sturdier now, isn't he, he's stronger and_—she's reluctant to concede so soon, right off the bat, but on the other hand, she's honestly a little anxious to get going, too. Korra has been craving this opportunity like a cat-fish out of water, and while she's still unsure of _exactly_ how he's feeling about all of this... well, neither of them can deny the renewed vitality surrounding him now. She looks him over slowly, and he lets her. _Even if it means that he __is__ back to his sleazy self somewhat._

"All right, enough talk," he says brusquely, crossing his arms as he looks out over their makeshift training pad. "Show me some evasive maneuvers."

"Evasive? Right now? Alone?" Korra asks with confusion. "What happened to the fighting part?"

"Just _trust_ me."

But Korra isn't convinced. "How am I supposed to pretend to evade when there's no one there? Shouldn't you be attacking me?"

"I want to see you go through the motions first."

"Let me guess," Korra rolls her eyes. "_This_ exercise is all a part of your teachings repertoire too, then? On how to become a world-class cheater?"

He smirks. "I am a master, after all."

"You should write a book."

"Perhaps I will."

"I wouldn't buy it."

"You are stalling, Avatar."

"Avatars do not _stall_, pretty boy."

"Apparently _this_ one does," he gloats while Korra fumes.

"I don't—"

"But enough of that. You asked me to teach you something useful, and that's what I'm going to do," his voice rings clearly through the night air, and Korra falls silent despite the petulant desire to have the final word. "You can question it all you want but there is no uncertainty on the matter: evasive tactics can be just as important in a fight as the offensive ones. It means being able to think on your feet, gaining the upper hand on a potentially unfavorable situation, tricking an opponent into thinking that—"

"Seriously, are we talking about evasion or cheating?"

Tahno pauses, then smiles thoughtfully. "In many ways, technically speaking, I suppose they can be very similar."

"Super," she mumbles.

Tahno watches as the corners of her lips quirk into an adorable frown and the corners of her eyes tighten with irritation. "Well, then. Get started."

So she does.

As she swivels and turns, going through set after set, she can feel his eyes following her with an intensity that she hasn't experienced in ages. The obvious changes in him start piecing themselves together in her mind and it sends her heart overflowing with warmth. _He is healing_, she realizes.

But even so, she is cautious. There is an added sharpness to his features now, a calculative gleam to his stare, a careful precision to his thoughts, like all the turning cogs in that big head of his are rotating away, on and on, never stopping for an instant. _This _is Tahno the fighter, resurfacing. This is Tahno the fighter, and she can't help but wonder again if maybe this wasn't such a good idea. There is a spark, a rekindling of the old Tahno, the one she used to know—_or thought she did, maybe_—but there is also is a darkness. There is a shadow cast over his face that reeks of a quiet hatred, of a slow-moving poison, of revenge, and she thoughtlessly wonders if this training—_she'll be faster, stronger, better_—hints at other interests that might be at stake, deep and lingering and simmering just below the surface.

"Focus," his level voice cuts out over the rooftop, through the sounds of Satomobiles below and of people calling out to each other on the streets. "Sloppy doesn't even begin to cover that last half-turn. Force can amount to very little without proper form."

"You sound like my firebending teachers," she grumbles under her breath. But this time she'll admit that he's right.

Privately, anyway.

From across the way, unnoticed by a swiftly-moving Korra, Tahno tenses. His mind immediately jumps to the Fire Ferret—_does she ever train with him like this?_—before he can fully prevent it, but it's squashed almost immediately because _he is not worth the time._ But minutes pass, and as he sits there with his arms crossed and his eyes as helplessly drawn to her as ever, Tahno is struck with a moment of solid, heavy clarity.

Because while it's easy to focus entirely on _her_ and her grace, to watch the movements and lines and curves with a careful eye, to let the rest of his mind run blank, to feel nothing but the chill on his face and the warmth escaping from his skin, there is still a growing emptiness inside him that he cannot ignore, a hole that cannot be filled. It is with this gaping hole that he aches with every fiber of his being, still feels like there is a dull, miserable weight holding him down. He cannot deny it. His bending—part of his soul, his very life force—is _gone_. He is no longer the man he used to be.

But it's more than that.

And as his eyes trail along the flowing movements of the waterbending girl before him, his mind whispers questions—of _what ifs—_to which there may never be answers.

His thoughts wander back to the firebender. This boy, this insignificant little rodent on the face of the planet, has attached himself to Korra in many ways that Tahno cannot fully grasp; they share the same island, the same team, the same table—_the same bed? _his gut wrenches, but _no, she's already admitted that it isn't like that, _no matter how much she may someday want it to be—and he thinks of all the other things that she and _Mako_ are able to share: Training? Regrettably. A battle? Of course. A life together?

Tahno hesitates, swallowing bile.

Even if the Ferret _didn't_ realize soon enough what he was missing and ditch the heiress, or even if he _did_ and Korra chose to let him go anyway, there would inevitably be someone later down the line to take his place. He thinks of this man, this phantom lover who will one day give Korra all that she deserves and, immediately, he is sick. _Haven't I already come to terms with this once before? _He has, but no matter what he thinks about in his moments of weakness, he doesn't dare presume that he could ever fill that role, that he could do her justice. He thinks of life and lessons and not realizing what you've got until it's gone, and—

He doesn't even have a choice anymore, does he?

Tahno never thought that this would be something he'd want, it's a life he'd never imagined, but he's no longer got the choice_—it's yes, it's always yes_—and something wrenches inside of him.

"Well," he mutters suddenly, squaring his shoulders uselessly. "Unless this is only as half as good as you perform for your other teachers, we're fucked," he remarks sternly, and she sends him a less-than-modest glare.

"Well, why don't you show me how it's done, _Sifu_?"

"Sifu?"

"Would you prefer Sifu Pretty Boy?"

Tahno smiles slightly in spite of himself. "I could get used to that."

Korra frowns. "Whatever. This would be a whole lot easier if I had something to work with. Or rather, some_one_ else."

"Evasion tactics aren't just about dodging potential attacks," he explains evenly, approaching her slowly but keeping his distance. She notices, if the furrow of her brow is anything to go on, but he continues before she has a chance to call him out on it. "It's about _visualization_. About finding the opportune moments, and reflexes, and strategizing while actively working your opponent... whether that leads to an eventual contact or to escape. Either way, successful evasion requires patience."

"Perfect," she interrupts. "Because I have _loads_ of that."

"And you think I do?" he teases, coming a little closer, and then with a condescending tap to her nose, he smirks, "Now shut up and stop interrupting."

"Some professional you are."

"I said I was a master, not a professional," he says. "I never claim to be more than I am."

"Jerk," she grumbles.

Tahno sighs and relents, looking dubious. "You ready for some combinations?"

"Finally!"

"All right," he breathes deeply, staring her straight in the eye. "But you gotta be quick on your feet. If you don't think fast enough, it won't matter what the rest of your body does."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Korra says quickly, and her excitement is flowing through her limbs so rapidly that all of her movements become wide and large and fast. "So what's the best case scenario here? I mean, if everything goes ideally?" Tahno ponders it seriously for a moment then holds up three fingers with a twisted smile.

"Assess, act, and fly like a wolfbat out of hell. It's a rather convenient formula that will serve you well. "

"Wait," she halts. "You want me to run _away_?"

"Was I unclear?"

"Seriously?"

"Of the most serious kind."

"I'm not the type to run away from my problems," she proclaims evenly, trying to hide the sudden debilitating doubt that has crept into her blood, seemingly out of nowhere. She remembers the rough fingers of a man—_a coward_—behind a mask and the nightmares of a soul—_a life_—torn to shreds and, abruptly, none of this feels real. Or perhaps too real. This training isn't a game. This is supposed to be providing her with another line of defense from the man—t_he monster, the symbol_—who is determined to destroy her. _I'm not the type to run away_, she thinks again. _I'm not_. And then her thoughts stray to a night with the moon, the wind, and the sand. "I'm much more likely to dive in and attack from straight-on."

"So... intimidation tactics."

She glares. "_No_."

"A huge display of force ? To overwhelm and overpower your opponent?"

"Well, when you put it like _that,_" she sighs, and then, suddenly, "Tahno, I don't think I'm cut out for this."

He starts. "_What_?"

"It's just like with my airbending," she explains, suddenly frustrated for reasons that she cannot fully describe. "Air is supposed to be like, the element of freedom or whatever, of flowing with the movement, but not like with waterbending, and I always have such a hard time just... _flowing_, you know? More like... ugh, I don't know how to explain it."

Tahno takes another look at her and sighs. She feels terribly inadequate, like she has somehow failed _him_ too, but before she can try to describe her feelings any more clearly, he steps closer, takes her arms, shakes them out, and loosens the muscles. Korra looks at him over her shoulder with annoyance; he merely gives her a warning look.

"Try looking at it this way," Tahno explains slowly, eyes piercing her own. Her lips part, breath slipping through in a gentle wave, but Tahno is already circling around, a predator stalking its prey, and then he is behind her, his lips hovering near her ear. "Amon is coming after you, and soon. He had you once, and since then he has been biding his time, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to give his plan the optimal impact."

Korra swallows, brows drawn together and spine stiffening with tension, but Tahno slides his fingers over her shoulders and down her arms, using expert thumbs to knead out the tension and roll the space between the blades. He trails fingers down her back and, using two hands—one on the spot below her ribcage and the other on her lower back—he straightens her posture, softening the spine, and lets go.

"All this time you've been waiting for him, too," he shifts, now that she's more relaxed, and begins leading her through some basic maneuvers. "He took advantage of your frustration once, when your anger became too much, and you spiraled out of control. It made you lose your balance."

They lean forward and back, weight shifting onto the balls of their feet, movements long and slow and full as she relearns and rehearses the appropriate motions of the set. His fingers have left her body altogether, and haven't made any further contact with her skin, but he hovers close, guiding her movements with his own, and she can still feel the heat of him at her back. "The trick is to make him feel the same," he continues, voice quiet, but somehow it's still enough to cut straight through to her brain. "When he comes after you, you... you let him get frustrated, make him lose _his_ balance. Once you've worked this to your advantage, you can use it as an opportunity to find the holes in his defenses, or you can save the fight for a later day. Think about all that he knows about your character, Avatar. Will he ever expect you to not fight back? By utilizing these evasive maneuvers, you can already form some cracks in his guard, and then, if it's the right time, you can break through it."

"But..." Korra swallows, trying to find her voice. "Breaking his guard will mean having to break my own."

He shakes his head. "It's all about the timing. When an opponent attacks, even if they keep their guard up, there will be a moment when their thoughts are focused on the attack and not the defense. This is the best window of opportunity you'll get, and it's the best chance you'll have to make a move and then flee. You should attack aggressively and quickly."

"Well, I'm plenty good at that," she smirks slightly. "So the best defense is still a good offense." _Piece of moon cake_.

"Mostly true," he concedes, shifting, twisting them slowly, guiding her in wide, sweeping rings of infinity across the roof. "But it's not _just_ about the strike. Your offense and defense must coincide and work together... You need to be smart about it. If you sense danger, dodge or block _before_ it becomes dangerous, and strike at the same time."

"I thought evasion was all about waiting?"

"It's about patience," he whispers into her ear. "And timing."

"What's the difference?"

"It comes with practice."

She huffs, but is impressed in spite of herself. "You know," she begins, uncharacteristically quiet. She allows the awe to leak through her voice, just a little. "I don't think even half the city actually realizes what goes on inside that big head of yours."

"Probably for the best."

She sends him a small smile, wondering if the self-depreciating comments might ever disappear again, but now is not the time to mention this, she thinks. He is doing his job and she needs to focus on hers. "Tahno," she asks seriously. "How am I going to apply all of this to the showdown with Amon? I mean, it all makes sense in _theory_, but... it's still like my airbending."

"I suppose it's not that hard to see why you're struggling," Tahno muses, not bothering to mince his words as he picks up their pace slightly. "Avoidance and evasion were some of the most treasured tools of the airbenders."

"_Are_," Korra corrects quietly, feeling a whisper of some deep, age-old guilt that she does not dare explore. She feels tired suddenly, like all of this is somehow pointless. Like she has lost sight of something important. She shrugs, as if it will release her from her skin-grown-too-tight, and steps away, breaking from his invisible hold. "But I just can't relate."

They still, the two of them alone on the rooftop in a city of greed and life and the beginnings of something closer to hope, and Tahno's feet follow her path. "Then focus on the effect," he enunciates lowly, and he comes no closer than before, but suddenly Korra is blinded by the feeling of having something so solid behind her, by the abrupt feeling of being grounded. Her feet are flat over the cement, her arms loose and listless at her sides, and yet she can feel the growing urge to let herself fall into him, feel herself being beckoned by some unseen gravitational pull. She swallows hard, and it occurs to her, like a swift punch to the chest, that she wants to know if _this_ is anything like what he might feel. "You're thinking about it in the abstract," he whispers, and a shiver runs down her spine. "Imagine it. Try to actually see it happening... you, finding away from Amon, stalling his plans, finding his weak spots. Not being able to catch you. Think about what it does to a person, psychologically, when they cannot touch you."

Korra inhales a shuddering breath, and then—

"What are we really doing here, Tahno?"

She's turned to face him, has broken the spell, but the residual power still lingers, crackling like lightning electricity across the space between them. Korra is reminded of a fight, of a sea of glass on the bathroom floor, and of a fight within a dance—_a dance is just a_—and she's finding it hard to breathe. But Tahno has not moved, and his eyes surprised and wide, too dark with the night sky—_she can't tell if she prefers the light of the ice_—and when he still can't seem to find his voice, she presses closer.

"Tahno, what happened that night on the beach?" she asks quietly, but there is an urgency creeping into her voice that she hadn't known was there.

He's caught off guard, but croaks, "What?"

"The night of the Festival of the Moon," she whispers, eyes alive with a fear that is wreaking havoc at the pit of her belly. "What happened between us?"

And then he pulls away.

"I haven't brought it up before because of everything that's happened," Korra rushes out. "And because it seemed like—like we had some sort of unspoken agreement that some things were just better left unsaid, but... I can't not know anymore. I need to know."

"Know what?" he asks briskly, and Korra's eyes narrow at the callous tone. _The hell? _"It happened. End of story."

"No, _not_ end of story... I stillhaven't been able to stop thinking about that night. Nor... nor what came after it. And neither have you," she rounds on him, stepping closer even when he makes a move to place more distance between them.

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, voice vicious and angry, but Korra doesn't understand what she could have done to make him so. Except... except perhaps, for hearing something she wasn't supposed to hear during a nightmare she shouldn't have known he'd had. _But he doesn't know that_; that was just one of the many things that she had learned to keep from him. And he's stronger now. Isn't he? _What the hell, _she thinks again. _I've had enough_ _of this crap._

"That wasn't just two opponents having a pre-match spat," she spits. "There was something between us, even then."

"What makes you think there's something between us now?" he digs, eyes hard, defensive, and she can see his protective wall piling up like a surging tidal wave. "Or have you already forgotten our little agreement?"

"Don't try to slip your way out of this," she hisses, ignoring the sting of the words she feels no matter how clearly she knows them to be untrue and—

"What is there to say, _Uh-vatar_?"

—_so, we're back to that?_

"Admit it, Tahno," she stalks forward, voice low and sharp. "The night of the festival, that night on the beach, when I... when I healed you... it all means just as much to you as it means to me."

His lip curls, and his eyes narrow, but Korra knows—she knows, she knows, she knows—and she's not about to give up now. She can't. But she is so, _so_ tired of playing these games and she never thought that things would go this far, honestly, and _with Tahno I don't have to keep up the act... right?_

"You still think you know what goes on inside of my head?" he laughs, dark and deep. "You haven't any idea."

Korra breathes deeply, but instead of giving her strength, it only makes her dizzy. "What are we doing here, Tahno?" she asks again, bitter and frustrated, and the fatigue finally makes its way into her voice.

"I thought I was supposed to be teaching you something."

"You know what I mean," she whispers evenly and, somehow, it still sounds to Tahno like an ultimatum.

And the real problem is that Tahno _does_ know.

He knows that despite all that's happened—despite _everything_—he has already been granted more than he could have hoped for, and somewhere along the way, he had forgotten himself. Tahno knows that Korra does not belong with him. While she still has feelings for the firebending rat—_and this grates over his nerves like nothing else can, like sharp claws tearing into bone_—he knows now, in this instant, that the fire ferret won't last. Not for long, anyway. The problem is that someday there will be somebody else who will; somebody who is deserving of her, and somebody who will fight alongside her, who can offer her something more than just half-remembered lessons from a past too swathed in bitterness. It won't be him.

"It was then that I first saw you as more than just an opponent," she tells him. "When I first saw you as a man instead of just a rival."

"Yeah, well," he coughs, fighting to keep his voice harsh and bitter, and has to turn away his gaze. "I was a different person then."

"Maybe in some ways," she concedes gently. "But you and I both know that it's not the whole truth."

"What do you want to hear?" he demands. "That I see myself differently? The world? That I see _you _differently?"

"Don't you?"

And when he turns away entirely, it is because she is right.

"How do you see me, Tahno?" she creeps closer, cautious, as if she might scare him away. The thought sends his stomach rolling because it shouldn't be like this, _it shouldn't be like this. _"How do you see me now?"

And against his better judgment, against his own will, Tahno considers all that he has considered before, but never while she was so near, never while she stood so close.

Tahno had wanted her because he'd wanted the challenge, the victory, the _feeling_. Before the match, he'd been restless with anticipation at the thought of having the chance to get closer to her again, to reach out and take her down a few notches—_to take her to bed_—and knowing—_wrong, wrong, wrong_—that they were going to see each other, alone, after he took home another championship kept him reeling for days. The thrill that she wanted him, that he was forbidden, that she was resistant, it all made it so much sweeter for him, and it would be even sweeter when he—_and not the firebender_—finally had her, over and over and over again. And then—_when everything was lost_—she'd become a link, a reminder of his past, his mistakes, his stupidity, and a reminder of what could have been. Even at the very beginning of that sickening period of time drenched in darkness and alcohol, some small, sick part of him had actually enjoyed knowing, deep down, that one day he might be able to hold it over the Ferrets' heads that he'd had her. Even while so weak and pathetic, while receiving her aid, her attention, her support, he could discern that his weakness somehow had a hold over her, and the thrill of knowing that the Avatar—the most powerful creature in the universe—responded this way to _his_ touch... Well, he'd wanted that too.

Tahno looks at her now, blue eyes shrouded in uncertain certainty, and he doesn't see her as a healer, although she has healed him. He doesn't see her as a warrior, although she has fought. She's _all_ of it. He sees her now, and he wants her because he wants her. He wants the fighter, he wants the healer, he wants the loyalty and the determination and the stubbornness. Tahno wants the brightness, the fire, but he wants the darkness that comes with the rest of it, the pain and the pressure and the suffering and the humanity. He wants her body, he wants her mind, and though he doesn't care much for the hundreds of past lives before her, he thinks he might even want her spirit, too.

He wants all of her.

"First," he whispers, voice thick. "How do you see me?"

"I feel for you," she says simply, and feels all of the painful inadequacies of the words. But worse still, in her words Tahno hears somethingmore—or perhaps _less—_and his chest constricts.

"The last thing I want from you is pity," he promises, but a deep wave of disgust washes over him because _that isn't entirely true, is it?_

"It's not pity," she says quickly.

"Oh, it _isn't_?"

"It's not... _just_ pity."

"That's not good enough," he laughs bitterly.

"Then what would you prefer, Tahno?" she asks, angrily, almost desperately. "Then what _do _you want from me? Because you obviously seem to know _something _about what the fuck it is that you want, yet you don't have the guts to just come out and—"

"I want all of you."

She halts, then swallows her heart.

"Then take it," she tells him quietly, and she can hear just as well as he the distance that she puts between them even now, that impossible-to-break protective barrier, with the words—_take __me_—left unsaid, but still hanging in the air, an implication in the open invitation.

It's one, two, three beats of her heart—and then he is there, standing before her, close enough to touch, but still far enough away that she's afraid to reach out across the canyon and close the gap. He stares down into her blue, blue eyes, searching, and Korra doesn't dare blink.

"If you mean that," he warns, low and clear. "Our entire agreement will be thrown off-balance," he warns.

Korra knows this, knows that there may not be any turning back, but her blood is pounding in her veins, flowing like it's on fire, and has the inescapable feeling that this was bound to happen, that it's unavoidable, inevitable, and if not tonight, then _when_?

"I know," she whispers, scarcely moving; she fears that if she acts too quickly, if her body responds without thinking, the words will die in their throats and they'll be gone before they can even think to bring themselves back.

"What about not wanting any distractions?" he asks, but he too can taste change in the air, and temptation is heavy on his tongue. He is _right there_, so why does he still feel so—

"I'm not talking about commitment," she says carefully. "I'm not going to let myself lose sight of my true responsibilities. And especially not now. But I'd be lying if I tried to tell myself any longer that I wasn't already in too deep."

When Tahno laughs, his long bangs falling into his eyes, she's already familiar with the terrible, heart-breaking sound. "You only live once, right?" And Korra thinks, _well, not exactly in my case, no_. But then the silence stretches and the humor leaves his eyes. "So this is it?" he breathes, eyes uncertain and hungry and drowning in the intensity. "You want this?"

Korra inhales a shallow breath, because that's all her lungs can take and—

People had always cautioned her that playing with fire would get you burned, but she wishes that someone somewhere along the way might have warned her not to play with water instead.

"I want this," she tells him.

She expects him to move and when he doesn't, her lips burn with need. He looks conflicted, torn over something at which she can only guess. "What is it?"

"Tell me," he whispers, eyes probing.

"Tell you what?"

He smiles a sad, disparaging smile. "Tell me what you want."

Something within Korra clicks, like the world falling back into place, and in the seconds before she crashes into him, she whispers, "I want _you_."

She reaches for him and by the time she's even lifted her arms, he is on her, kissing her like there is no tomorrow, like he is pouring his soul right into her, and it's only a kiss, but it's nothing like they've shared before. She feels his fingers pulling at her hair, perhaps a little too rough, a little too tightly, but she only reciprocates, feeling the fierce pull of her fingers through his dark strands. Korra hadn't even realized he'd been guiding her back toward the hatch until her legs hit the railing, and when it comes time to take the first step down, it's she who pulls him, drags him with her as they stumble their way down into the dark and pull the door shut.

Her feet hit the floor in the same moment that the resounding slam echoes through the corridor, and it sends a jolt through her bones. But before she can even blink away the confusion, Tahno has her up against the wall of the passageway, the hall leading to two modest apartments in the upper tier of the noisy, busy bar below and—

She has barely regained her footing, hardly moved any closer to his door, to their destination down the hall, but she is already removing his shirt, tearing away the fabric with nails and knuckles and shaking fingers, ripping it clean from his torso as they break away, gasping for air. Her hands are everywhere all at once, clutching, digging, exploring anything she can get a hold of, while Tahno slides her across the wall, working his way down the hallway as he works on her throat. He shifts to open the unlocked door, reaching for the handle with a relatively free hand, but Korra takes the advantage, twisting, throwing him back against the cheap, peeling paint and tears open the fly of his pants. Gasping for breath, throat already raw from the ragged breaths seizing his throat, Tahno gives the handle a vicious twist, and all but swings her into the threshold. They stumble together into the pitch blackness of the room, Tahno's old, ratty shirt forgotten and abandoned in the darkness of the hall, but Korra still has some semblance of mind to turn the switch of the lock once she is thrown back against it. The fur is gone, the hair is down, and Korra trails wet, hot kisses over the slickness of his skin, brushing tongue and teeth and lips over the line of his collarbone, down his abs, over his arms, at his neck, and when she comes back up he is pulling her top free. His eyes crawl over the bindings with a hunger that is never sated, and with his fingers pulling at her hair like this, with her thick, heavy strands falling against her shoulders and down her back and over his chest, she vaguely wonders what it is, exactly, about this time that is so different when—

She hits the bed with a breathy gasp, skin too hot even in the cold room, and she looks up at Tahno leaning over her, long and lean and still-strong muscles rippling with the effort expelled not to crush her entirely, to where he is hovering just above, _too far away_. Korra reaches for him again, fingers twining behind his neck as she juts her hips upward, wordlessly urging him forward, begging with her eyes, demanding to know why he has _stopped_—

"One night?" he breathes, barely audible against the sound of their tortured heartbeats.

Her chest is heaving with the breaths that will not come, and her head is dizzy, light with the high—_that only he gives her_—and it occurs to her that he's been kissing her like there's no tomorrow because he isn't sure that there will _be_ any tomorrow_._

_And will there be? _her mind whispers.

She lets out a soft laugh and, though she knows it's not much—_it's not enough_—she allows a small, ironic smile. "We've never really been very good with having just _one _of things... have we?"

Korra can see the curve of his lips tilting upward in the grayscale shadows and her heart swells within her chest. "No," he smiles through his words; it is a keen, tentative smile. "No, I guess we haven't."

"Will that be a problem?" she asks, eyes challenging.

And when he slowly shifts his weight over her, creeping his legs inch-by-inch over the mattress, fingers splayed wide across the sheets as they stretch along the length of the spaces along her sides, hips dipping teasingly low, elbows resting on either side of her shoulders, chin barely touching hers as he looks down at her with those sharp, heavy-lidded eyes, Korra feels chills break out all across her body, racing across her limbs in a rush that leaves her breathless and wired.

"Not as long as you've got the nerve," he whispers, and even in this light, she can see his gray eyes question just as much as they demand.

Korra tilts her chin up, just a slight movement at the neck, and lets it fall ever-so-slightly to the side. Her eyes are locked onto his, unblinking even through the lidded gaze. Korra remembers a night of ice and firelight and a dance, and when she speaks, her smiling lips brush against his.

"Always have."

He kisses her then, lips sliding over hers with careful precision, heart pounding with reckless abandon, and he takes her, fingers sliding into place among the threaded, knotted strands of her hair as they—_take each other and_—settle down onto the bed.

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It isn't until nearly dawn, long after she has kissed him goodnight and set off into the streets to make her way back to her island fortress, that it occurs to him that something about this night, about the words she has said to him feels unfinished, as if they had been been severed in some critical way. It takes him a moment to recapture the memory—a dream-like vision from another life—to find what is missing.

And once it comes to him, a mere heartbeat later, it doesn't allow him peace for the rest of the night.

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_Always will?_

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**NEXT INSTALLMENT:**

Arc IV: _**discord**_ –_ the cracks begin to show_


	9. intermission : a change in the weather

**Author's Notes: **12_/6/12_. Sorry for the delay! I have been _so _busy this semester, but I am finishing up my student teaching now, which means I'll be able to get back into the swing of writing GSA again! Though I do have to warn you, I'm going to be a little holiday crazy for a while, so this is going to take a backseat until my other fics are finished. Just for a little while longer! We're at a bit of a lull in this story right now, and when it starts rolling again, I want to make sure that I'll be able to see it pick up all the way until the end.

On that note, this is just a quick filler chapter. I won't have Arc IV: _**discord**_ –_ the cracks begin to show_done for a little while yet, but here's something that will hopefully hold you over!

Also, if you haven't had a chance to read _born to die_, go check it out! It's a one-sentence challenge Tahnorra one-shot that is compatible with this universe.

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION:** "Won't Back Down" by Benjamin Francis Leftwich (Tom Petty Cover). This is Alison's fault.

**Beta'd** by the lovely, lovely **ebonyquill**.

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_**intermission**_

_a change in the weather_

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"Look, Mama, over there."

The loose change slips from his fingers and clatters onto the counter. He slides the coins back toward the place where he stands, inwardly cringing at the grating sounds they make against the hard surface, before returning the metal pieces to the cashier.

"Mama, do you see him?"

He can hear the ticking and clicking of the register's buttons, but his eyes stay trained on some terrible advertisement pasted to a small cardboard box selling one yuan candy pieces—_Flameo Noodles! Nothing's more flammable!_—and he waits for his change.

"Hush, child."

"But _Mama_, it's him! With the hair from the picture. It's the Wolfbat that—"

"_Hush_!"

Tahno keeps quiet but his jaw inevitably tightens. He's never been very fond of kids.

"Here you are, sir," says the cashier as he slides the receipt across the counter. The man in the uniform apron has kept his head down throughout the entire purchase, but Tahno has a feeling that'll change as soon as he turns his back.

"Thanks," Tahno manages, though it is rather quiet and brusque, especially when coupled with the insistent song of rain falling softlyover the cheap roof. The young boy, probably no older than eight or nine, watches him as he turns and makes his way out while the young mother determinedly avoids looking in his direction. She doesn't seem to realize that the package label she is reading is upside down.

A vein at his temple pulses as he looks down at the too-curious kid, and he nearly tells the little punk to scram. But instead, Tahno merely slips his purchase into the front of his dark, simple jacket and makes his way outside. It's still raining, which means that it looks like it's about three hours earlier into the morning than it really is. He knows that it's not actually that early, courtesy of the clock hung up under one of the street lamps at the nearest corner and, of course, because of the emptiness of it all; the earliest morning workers have all made their commutes for the day, and the graveyard shifts have all gone home, so the city is lined only with stray passing cars and oceanic puddles.

He has no umbrella, though he had looked straight at one no more than twenty minutes ago, right in the spot where it usually rested against the corner in his cold apartment. He walks with his hands in his pockets, fisted inside the fabric without even a scrap of lint to cling onto, and braces against the chill with hunched shoulders though, in truth, he doesn't mind. He can overhear two burly men chattering about the weather under a green awning up ahead, and their words—_I reckon the late season snow is a-comin' now, them mountaintops are thick with it, yeh see?_—drift around him through the rain as he passes by. _Damn rain_, another voice wraps around him. _It better end soon. It's sure as hell cold enough._

The raindrops are slinking down his spine, dripping into his eyes, into his ears, his mouth, and he blinks them away as he trudges on. He's pretty sure some mud has speckled its way onto his legs and he can feel his hair clinging to his temple, but he doesn't try to brush any of it off. He just keeps moving forward, his gaze on the sidewalk ahead.

When he brushes past the fabric curtain and steps into the warmth of the threshold, he stiffens. Narook looks up from his place at the bar, and when his eyes catch Tahno's, the moment freezes. A look of something passes over Narook's features, something deep and cautious. Unsure. Surprised.

Hopeful.

He huffs, turns back to the dish he is drying, and gruffly says, "Out of the door, you fool."

Tahno is still stuck in the frame, hand clasped onto the fabric of the curtain with a loose fist. He's not sure which way he should turn—_go back out, go back in?_—and for a moment he is transported back to the old days, the dark days of youth and arrogance and being alone without being alone, days which, as it turns out, were never really all that dark, after all. He remembers an old man with too much trust in his eyes and an offer that he couldn't refuse.

"Boy, you're letting all of my heat out."

Tahno steps onto the threshold and scoffs. "You call this heat? Just because you sell water tribe food doesn't mean the temperature has to be authentic, too. You let it get any colder in here and you'll recreate the tundra."

"You get what you get," the old man continues, not bothering to look up from his glass as Tahno makes his way toward the door leading up the stairs. "Unless you can fork over more cash than what I'm currently running, you can find a way to make your own heat. You seem to be good at that."

Tahno chuckles under his breath as his hand takes hold of the fabric curtain leading to the stairs. He glances back at the clock on the wall behind the bar and sends a meaningful look at its attendant, something deep and cautious. Nostalgic. Tentative.

Ready.

"Don't mind if I do," he smirks, and ducks into the shadows of the stairs before he can hear Narook's laugh.

The stairs creak and whine as he climbs them, the woodwork feeling worn and tired and achy with the moisture of the endless rain, and Tahno listens to the sounds with newfound clarity as he reaches the top. He handles the keys with practiced ease, dropping them into an open space on a shelf near the door before slipping off his wet shoes. He hangs his jacket over one of the hooks at the door, taking care to slip out the item concealed within, but then casually flings it onto a cushion as he nears the couch. With a few quick stretches, his wet shirt is off, tossed haphazardly to the floor, and a relatively clean one quickly replaces it. He puts a kettle on the stove, setting the flame to high; it's for his hot water, of course, because tea is still not worth drinking if it's not made right—_not made by a certain blue-eyed tea-bender_—but it's fucking cold and wet, and she's not going to be arriving for at least another couple of hours.

Which is precisely why he doesn't bother to lock the door when he flings himself onto the couch, extends his legs, and presses his back up against the armrest cushions. Certain of his privacy, Tahno reaches down to pull out the item he had purchased from the store, a newspaper that had slipped between the cushions when he threw himself onto the furniture. He tears off the binding and moves to open the pages when the kettle's whistle blows.

When he has returned to the couch, mug of hot water and pen in hand, Tahno carefully sets the items on the nearby table, lays himself back out on the couch, and opens the paper. He flips straight to the back.

Server? _As if_.

Valet? _Definitely not._

Doorman?_ No thanks._

Entertainer? _At that old dump? Yeah, right, _he thinks. _I'd rather arm wrestle with a chi-blocker._

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"You know," he whispers to himself, and his eyes haven't moved, but they are no longer seeing the words in _The Republic City Classifieds. _

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_That might not be such a bad idea._

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**NEXT INSTALLMENT:**

Arc IV: _**discord**_ –_ the cracks begin to show_


	10. Arc IV : discord : the cracks begin

******Disclaimer: **Disclaim, disclaim, disclaim.

**Author's Notes: **_12/21/12._ And here it is. Happy End of the World Day? (At least you'll go out with some lovely Tahnorra in your brain, no?)

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: **"Locked Out of Heaven" by Bruno Mars, for sure, but this installment _really_ comes down to "Till Dawn (Here Comes the Sun) by The Weeknd. I'm not kidding. This song captures the essence of this installment _perfectly, _so please, please, _please _listen to both of them, and you'll see what I mean.

I got the second song from a recommendation on tumblr, but my messages box deleted the name of the user as soon as I sent back the reply. D: Please send me another message so I can thank you properly! It really helped give me the final _oomph_ I needed to finish this.

If you're looking for timeline clarification, this chapter is slowly approaching the middle of Episode 8: _When Extremes Meet_.

**Beta'd** ever-so-thoroughly by the beautiful **ebonyquill**.

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_We got your back, Korra... and we can save this city. _

_Together. _

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"I'm not waiting all day for those fritters, boy!"

"Yeah, well, maybe if you didn't have such a cheap-ass frier, you wouldn't have to wait at all!"

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Somehow, this wasn't the kind of morning that Tahno had always imagined for himself.

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* * *

_**discord**_

_the cracks begin to show_

* * *

Some hours later, Tahno finally rips the greasy apron from over his head and throws it in the bin near the utilities closet at the far back of the kitchen. His skin is hot and sticky, and he smells like stewed prunes and seal blubber, but the day is over and that's all that matters. When he steps out into the area behind the bar, Narook is busy serving up a hefty wave of customers. Apparently, Tahno has missed the lunch rush altogether and has dived straight into dinner hour.

"Make yourself useful and dry those glasses, will you?"

"I'm off the clock," Tahno says, his voice and throat scratchy with oily kitchen heat; but then he dries them, anyway.

It's almost another hour before the mob dies down to a manageable size, and Tahno finally turns to make his way upstairs. Before he leaves, Narook tosses him a copy of the day's paper and tells him to take a shower, regardless of whether or not there's hot water—_you smell worse than a beached whale, boy_—and look at that, things could almost be considered back to normal. Right.

He takes the shower, not because anyone told him to, but because he desperately needs one, and reads the paper afterwards while waiting for his water to heat on the stove.

The front-page headline is not a welcome one, but perhaps it's not all that surprising.

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**TRADING TASK FORCES:**

THE AVATAR'S NEW TEAM

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Tahno reads the article, but the photo—_a high-speed chase, a broken city_—says it all. He glares at the newsprint with narrowed eyes, and almost misses the screeching kettle, and the burning scent that says his water has boiled dry.

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"Fuck," is all he says.

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* * *

"Hey," he says as he steps round the corner. "Good afternoon."

"Mako!" she exclaims, sitting upright at the table with a jerk, and her voice is a little higher than she would like. _Ugh. _"Yeah, you too."

"I saw you out in the gazebo this morning. I was surprised you actually got up, especially after last night," he notes with a loaded tone, and Korra thinks he's probably either impressed or concerned; she could never be too sure with Mako these days. "I didn't think you were a morning person."

"I wasn't," Korra grumbles, swirling the tea inside her mug. "But _monks_ are, and now, I, by unfortunate association, have just gotten used to it."

"I guess I'm not that surprised," he shrugs at the doorframe and, again, Korra wonders why he's still so close when all he does is remind her of how far apart they are. She also wonders if there will ever be a time when he feels comfortable enough around her to just _be_ around her, but she isn't about to hold her breath. "You've been training with them for weeks, haven't you?"

"Yeah," she laughs, because maybe she's still a little delirious. She hadn't gotten very much sleep the night before, and she'd barely had the mind to eat throughout the whole day. It wasn't her fault though; Korra couldn't remember the last time she felt this ready to _fight_.

Actually, that's a lie.

"I guess my excuse is that I've just got the natural firebending instincts," Mako shrugs. "I rise with the sun, or so they say."

She scoffs and takes another sip of tea as she stares out the window into Yue Bay. "Yeah, well, I've always known I've got a preference for fire, so maybe that's my excuse, too."

Korra's determined not to look at him, to take back some measure of control—_and she feels it, after last night, she can __feel__ the control returning to her limbs_—but instead she just hears him shuffling awkwardly against the frame.

"You know," he begins tentatively. "Last night was... well. I feel like ever since we all moved in, we... like we've seen less and less of you. I guess I never really thought... It's just that last night was pretty amazing, tracking down the Equalists like that. I realize now how I've never really taken much time to think about what it's like for you, especially with you thinking that you have to go through all that on your own."

Korra looks up at him, surprised. Mako is leaning heavily against the woodwork, arms crossed tightly over his chest, but he's _trying_ not be so stiff, she can tell.

"It's my job," she says simply, like that's supposed to explain everything.

"Yeah," he concedes. "But I'm sorry for, you know... not getting it. Until now."

Korra nods, quietly and carefully. "Thanks," she smiles, not entirely sure what to do next. Her blood is still singing with restlessness, and she's pretty sure with the mood she's in that she could pick at least ten bar fights, but she's still sitting cross-legged at Pema's dining table and Mako is still standing there, waiting for her to say something else.

"Look, what I'm trying to say is... well, we've missed you," he blurts. "I've missed you."

Korra's mouth runs dry. "I'm still around," she tries, but she knows what he means. She can see him clamming right back up, so she quickly says, "But I've missed you guys, too." _A lot, actually. _

_Especially you._

He looks a little confused, and maybe a little disappointed, but Korra feels too tongue-tied to try anything more.

"We want to go into the city today to get some dinner," he says abruptly, and Korra feels like something has just slipped through her fingers. "We figured we could use a change, and last night's first run with the new Team Avatar seems like as good of an excuse to celebrate as any." He smiles at her, and Korra wonders what alternate universe she has just entered. Was she still asleep? Had she dreamed last night up entirely? She feels like some vital change must have occurred when she wasn't paying attention, but nobody has bothered to tell her.

"Thanks," she says gratefully, and really, she is. "But I honestly feel like I just need to keep going, you know? I felt like I was really starting to make some progress today, and I don't want to lose my momentum."

The disappointment isn't all that hard to see anymore. "Well, it's not really a Team Avatar celebration without its key player."

Korra laughs suddenly, the kind that feels like it's being pulled straight from your chest. "Yeah, well, then you'll have to party extra hard for me. I'd like to save my celebration for afterwards." _You know. When I'll feel like I've earned it._

"You sure?"

"Positive."_  
_

"Well," he nods, and shifts himself away from the doorframe. The distance feels greater than ever, and Korra wonders if he can feel it, too; the smile he gives her is tight and forced, so she thinks he might. "All right. I'll, uh... I'll let them know."

Korra nods her goodbye and watches him leave with heavy shoulders, wondering when the hell she turned into such an idiot.

* * *

Two hours later, it's still the most present question on her mind.

"Korra!" Bolin exclaims, while Asami smiles at her kindly and Mako looks on with pleased surprise. "You came!"

"Oh," she says, stunned. "Hi."

Imagine her surprise when, upon arrival at Narook's Seaweed Noodlery, just as she was about to rush straight past the crowded booths toward the stairs beyond the bar, she came face-to-face with three very surprised teammates.

Well, neither could Korra, but here she is, anyway.

She is so caught off-guard that at first all she can do is blink. When Bolin slides over to make room, however, her body jerksinto action.

"Sorry, but I can't actually stay!" she rushes out, holding up a hand to stop Bolin from squishing into the wall any further. "I just came to, uh, _to_—to pay off an old tab for Narook!"

"But you're already here," Asami points out. "Why not just stay and enjoy a meal with us? We didn't order too long ago."

"Yeah," Bolin agrees. "Join us! You look like all this Avatar stuff is really stressing you out."

"Sorry," Korra says, mostly to the girl with green eyes, and feels a twinge of disappointment in having lost yet _another_ opportunity to try being a better person to Asami. "But I still have a lot of stuff to do before we head out again later tonight, and I should really go see Narook first."

"I didn't realize you came here so often," Mako observes with another look of poorly concealed disappointment.

"What can I say?" she shrugs, starting to feel a small panic rising within her. How long has she been standing here? Has Narook noticed her distress yet? Has—has _he_— "Bolin got me hooked."

"You should have told us!" Bolin protests. "We love this place. If we'd known you were coming here all the time—"

"Sorry," Korra interrupts, feeling fidgety. "I just—you know, it was never really a planned thing, so."

Korra's almost certain that Mako notices how awkward she's being, but she's hoping that he's just chalking it up to the fact that he's still sitting _just a little too close_ to Asami. On the other hand, Korra is absolutely certain that Asami notices; from the quiet green-eyed speculation, Korra can only hope that Asami is remembering their talk in the gardens, and will have the good graces to just let her go quietly. And because it's _Asami_, naturally, she does.

"Don't worry, we'll save you something for later," she says with a secretive smile. "See you back on the island after dark?"

Korra allows herself a smile in return. "Another round of patrol? Can't wait. I'll see you guys later—don't start without me!"

The boys try to call after her as she heads to the bar, but Asami already has them sidetracked before she reaches the counter and an ocean of gratitude wells up within her. Still, it never hurts to be safe.

"Narook," she says in a low voice, all but ramming her waist into the bar. "This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to pretend to take my money." When Narook looks up, she feels more like a hog monkey than ever.

"Beg pardon?"

"Please?" she begs. "Just take this like you're going to collect my money for a bill and then, if—if Tahno comes down, tell him that I'll be back _soon_?"

Narook's knowing eyes shift to the table on the right. "You know what you're doing, Korra?"

She looks at him with fiery, pleading eyes.

"Not at all."

She goes through the motions of the exchange, then leaves through the front door.

* * *

Not more than four minutes later, Tahno is just about to close the living room window when a startling noise from outside bursts through the tide of his thoughts, and he unexpectedly comes face-to-face with an unfamiliar, rocky crag just beyond his fire escape. His gaze slides along the tall, narrow mountain of earth to find a figure at the top and—_ah_—there's Korra, with one foot already on the metal walkway, crawling in through his window and _you have got to be kidding me._

"What the hell?" Tahno mutters as she rolls onto his floor. He is so mind-boggled, he can barely clamp his jaw shut as he glances at the windows of the neighboring apartments. "Someone's going to think I'm being robbed by the Avatar."

She scoffs. "Yeah, well, I'm sure they wouldn't put it past me these days."

He looks back at her then, letting his fingers tighten over the chipping paint of the windowsill, and knows that he doesn't know how to respond to that. She sounds flippant, but Tahno knows her well enough to see how much it truly bothers her underneath. Speaking honestly, he'd always gotten his fair share of notoriety in his old life—_free publicity_—and he'd _basked_ in it; Tahno wasn't very familiar with how to cheer up someone who genuinely cared.

"Too good for doors now?" he says instead, rising up from the sill and closing the window shut. As an afterthought, he shuts the blinds, too.

"You know," she shrugs. "Just spicing it up a bit."

"Like you don't already have enough spice in your life," he crosses his arms, shooting her a hard, hard look.

She tilts her head to the side then, taking a good look at him for the first time. He's not quite so sickly pale anymore, his white shirt is stark, his hair is still a little damp from his shower, and he smells clean and fresh and like all the things she's missed. His eyes are a startling blue in the light, and all _this_, Korra thinks, is why she came.

Feeling a slow-burning warmth creep through her limbs, she carefully brings herself closer until they're standing toe-to-toe, just until she's almost under his chin. "Are you saying I should take some of it out?" shes asks meaningfully.

He looks down at her with narrowed eyes, arms still crossed over his broad chest, but her smirk only widens. _She's been hanging around me for too long_, he thinks distractedly, losing focus with each passing second. He'd wanted to say something about her little joyride as soon as she arrived, to show her the paper, to demand an explanation or call her out on her foolishness or _something_—but her fingers have already found their way under his shirt, and her lips have found the vein on his neck, so _she's off the hook for a little while longer, at least. _

The kettle eventually calls.

"Ah!" she breathes, extracting herself from his arms. Tahno looks down in a blurry haze of confusion as Korra rights her top and steps back off of the couch. She's breathing heavily, and so is he. "Good, you've got hot water," she says with a devious smile. "I'll get the tea."

He hears her rifling though his kitchen—_the familiar sounds of the afternoon_—but for a moment longer, he goes to linger by the sill, staring out the window at the space where the mountain no longer was.

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She may not have realized it, but not long before she'd catapulted herself through his window,  
he had already gone downstairs.

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Silently, Tahno follows her into the kitchen.

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* * *

Unsurprisingly, they never quite get around to drinking that tea.

Somewhere in between removing the cups from the cabinet and turning around to watch him approach—

Korra finds herself pinned against the counter, and her face in his hands. The cups fall to the sink with a jolting, shattering crash, but the sounds are drowned out by the force of her gasp against his mouth. The top she'd so carefully readjusted just moments before somehow finds it way onto the floor, and it's not long before she finds herself in his bed.

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"You know what you're doing, Uh-vatar?"

Korra laughs, darkly, under her breath.

She wraps her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, and shrugs bare shoulders into the mattress.

"No more than I usually do."

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* * *

He's not really himself tonight, Korra realizes.

And she has the creeping suspicion that it has something to do with how hard it has been for her to get over here the last few days, now that she and the others have decided to take matters with the Equalists and Tarrlok's wimpy task force into their own hands, but she's _still_ not quite sure what to do about it.

About any of it.

"Hey," she pokes him, though with barely any strength; whatever energy her limbs had carried in with her when she arrived is long gone now. "Why the long face?"

"Just because my face is long doesn't mean I'm particularly upset about something," Tahno replies keenly. "This is a terrible prejudice we long-faced people face each and every day."

_Great_, Korra notes. _He's being especially sarcastic, which means that he's deflecting something. _

"In that case, I apologize for any offense," she quips, bouncing onto the space of the mattress next to his. It has a wonderful effect on the upper portion of her anatomy, naked as it is, but he doesn't seem to be paying quite as much attention today.

"Well, if aren't you in a good mood," he observes dryly.

"I mean, you know how _spirited _I am."

"What?" he snaps, lifting his head off the pillow. "What are you doing? Are you trying to be funny? Or cheer me up, or something?" he asks disdainfully. "Because it's not working and it's not necessary."

"Am I allowed to call it lifting your _spirits _instead?"

"No," he sighs, slumping his whole body face-forward into the mattress; she has the sneaking suspicion that it's so she can't see the tight, burgeoning smile he's trying to hide.

"Then I withdraw my attempts," she says regally.

"Thank goodness."

"...thank the spirits!"

"_Korra._"

And then she tackles him.

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It's two days before he sees her again.

But perhaps that's really not all that surprising either.

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* * *

She's late.

It's because she's out on patrol, but what else is new? Korra finally feels like she's _doing _something. It may not be the solution to calming the revolution or finding Amon's true identity, but she is learning more and more about the ways of the Equalists with every attack, every block, every hit. She is the Avatar, she has a job to do, and this is the only way she knows how to do it.

And when she's not on the streets or training with Tenzin, she's at Tahno's. Seeing him the way he is, now more than ever, reminds her of her purpose. She is reminded of what happened that night in the stadium _every time_ she sees him; every glance, every touch, every sigh drives her. She is Korra, she is doing all that she can, and she's going to fix the mess she's made.

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She's late.

Tahno is trying to learn how to live all over again, and he's learning that it sucks.

He's waiting for her all the time now, which wouldn't have been much different from the usual, if not for the fact that now it's spent wondering whether or not _tonight _is the night that she's going to wind up getting herself killed, or worse. And he resents her for that; every smile, every laugh, every _it'll be okay, so don't worry so much _is just another blow_. _He is Tahno, she had never promised him anything anyway, and that's the way he'd wanted it. Wasn't it?

Living in the moment isn't all that easy when your sole source of _anything_ is the Avatar; she's too good at living in the moment, herself.

* * *

When she does arrive, it's not until a few hours later.

The skies are cloudy with a chilling storm, but it's peaceful inside the apartment, where the drops patter quietly against the glass and the light is calm with all the grays of rain. The pillow is soft against her cheek, the sheets are warm, and without meaning to, she finds herself nearly asleep.

She blinks—once, twice—and finds him looking back at her, a knowing smile where there is usually a smirk.

"Someone's tired," he says gently, teasingly.

"No," she argues immediately, and then yawns.

"You know, I thought I remembered the Avatar having a little more stamina than this."

"Can't help it," she mutters, burrowing deeper into the pillow, which brings her just a fraction closer to where he lays beside her.

"I guess that's what you get for trying to take on the world all at once," he gives her shoulder a gentle shove, pushing her awake, and when she glares at him, he only smiles.

"I'm not taking on the whole world all at once," she mutters, peeved. _Although I might as well be. _"I'm trying to cut down on the Equalist mess."

"Yeah," he concedes, still amusing himself with the shoulder pushing, which has now turned into something of a game. "Irritating Tarrlok all the while."

"Tarrlok?" Korra asks a little more loudly, confused. "I'm surprised you didn't just call him three-braids-what's-his-hair."

"I've been reading the papers."

"Yeah, okay, but _Tarrlok_? He's a weasel-snake, sure, but what can he do?"

Tahno considers her for a moment, and Korra tries not to fall asleep. "Just be careful," he says, surprisingly serious. His fingers brush her hair away from her face, even though they're nowhere near her eyes, and he becomes fixated on the strands. "Tarrlok's a sketchy guy."

"You sound like Tenzin," she sighs.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should get into the habit of listening to your mentors a little more," he points out reasonably, then flicks her shoulder. "He seems like the type who just might lose it one day."

"You also seem like the type who's incredibly biased against politicians."

"And with good reason."

For a few moments, it is quiet. Then: "You know, sometimes I think about... Just how much they're all counting on me... but other times—_most _of the time—I feel like they're all just waiting for me to fail," she whispers, lifting her gaze to meet his.

"Who?"

"Everyone," she admits, searching his eyes for the answers he doesn't have. "Does that make any sense?"

There are a lot of things he could say, and a lot of things that he'd like to. But instead he gives her shoulder another flick, then trails his fingertips over the line of her collarbone, sweeping them up along the slope of her neck, where they rest, spreading wide and warm over the skin.

"Just as much sense as anything else."

She is already close to falling back asleep, and a selfish part of him wants to keep her awake. He has so little time with her these days, and the fact that her other life—_her time spent with her little team, with the firebender_—is what keeps her from being here fully just seals the deal.

Mako, a firebender with no appreciation for substance, neither in bending nor in women. She hasn't mentioned him in a while, and he hasn't brought him up, but he knows what he saw the other day in the bar, and he knows the real reason for the impromptu landscaping outside his window; what Tahno _doesn't_ know is if her silence on the matter is a good thing.

"Tahno," she mutters groggily, and his eyes snap back to the lashes fluttering against her cheeks. He says nothing, but lowers himself towards her, and he _hates_ that when she brings herself closer—foreheads almost touching—a warmth spreads all through his limbs. "What will you do?"

Tahno pauses, confused. "With my life?" he asks with an irrational breath of laughter, as his brows deeply crease. "I've got a job with Narook, for now."

"No," she mouthes, and he has to lean closer to hear. He has the feeling that she isn't entirely awake. "What will you do? On the day... when I... fight Amon."

"I... I don't know," he replies honestly. He can think of a good few possibilities, but in truth? He doesn't know, does he? And he probably won't for a long, long time.

"Tahno," she breathes a deep, shuddering breath. He watches her eyes dance beneath her lids and revels in the sound of his name from her lips. Lost for words, he brushes his fingers along her cupid's-bow, and strains to hear. "I don't want you to get involved."

He pauses, and he wants to _laugh _because—

What would she do, he wonders, if she knew just how _involved _he'd already become?

"I suppose we'll see," he whispers with an ironic smile. "Won't we?"

But she is already gone, so he pulls up the covers, and lets her rest.

* * *

There is a fight later that week. Over something silly, something trivial, and neither can quite remember what it was about, or how it even started. It's usually the same old hat these days, anyway.

That night he watches her drift off to sleep in his arms, much like the way she watches him sleep when she awakes in the morning.

As they part, she tells him that she'll be over later that night, just after she finishes the patrol,_ she promises_. She apologizes for losing her temper, even if she's not sorry for anything else. He smiles a little then, the kind that she feels all the way to the core, the kind that she hasn't felt in so long, and he ruffles her hair and tells her that they still need to work on those apology lessons. She smiles and leans down to kiss him.

"Only if they're private," she breathes against his mouth.

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Predictably, her departure is delayed.

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Long after she leaves, Tahno gets up, gets dressed, and gets ready for the day.

As he waits for the water to heat, he is left staring out the window,

watching the city live on.

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* * *

**NEXT INSTALLMENT:**

Arc IV : _**discord**_ – _and this is how we fall apart_


	11. Arc IV : discord : this is how we fall

**********Disclaimer: **Disclaim, disclaim, disclaim.**  
Author's Notes. **_12/25/12_. Firstly, a serious thank you to **tasteofadeadsun** for recommending The Weeknd for the last chapter! Secondly, we're nearing the end guys. After this one, there are only three more installments of _gray skies ahead_.

And I feel that I should mention this now: the next installment will not be out for a while. Thank you in advance for your patience!

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: **"One of Those Nights" by The Cab for the middle. Also, "Twice" by Little Dragon, especially at the very beginning and at the very end. These songs are very different from one another, and are rec'd here for very different reasons.

**Beta'd** by **ebonyquill**.

* * *

_**discord**_

_and this is how we fall apart_

* * *

He is waiting for her by the window.

It's not hard to imagine what she's doing, what with the garish city lights muted against the smog, and the distant wailing of sirens. She's promised to come, but he has the feeling that he won't be getting any warm visits from her—not tonight, anyway. Their naïve little vigilante team is getting bolder with each passing night, and Tahno knows that it won't be long until Korra ends up doing something rash and stupid and gets herself into even more trouble; while he's not usually one to shy away from a little trouble, he knows better than to get mixed up on the wrong side of the law, and certainly not without some precautions.

_But try telling the Avatar that_.

Yue knows he had. But she is determined and stubborn and restless, and he supposes it was only going to be a matter of time before she found something else to occupy her time.

_She'll get back when she gets back_, he thinks.

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_And then what? _

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Does he just expect things to go back to normal, now that she's had a little taste of the outside life again? Even before creating her little troop, she hadn't spent _all _of her time inside of his apartment—she was still wandering the city in between visits—but he can tell she is already addicted to the thrill and the chase. The adrenaline. The rush.

_Well, _he thinks dryly._ If that doesn't sound familiar_.

He thinks of his untouched stash locked away in his kitchen cabinets, thinks of how the door has gone unopened ever since that day when she showed up at his apartment with two to-go boxes of noodles and stormed out not more than twenty minutes later. He hasn't touched a drop since.

But then he looks at the days-old shattered teacups left in the sink, and he knows that he's done nothing more than replace the old drug with a new one.

"Well," he mutters into the empty apartment, hearing the sirens wail. "Looks like we've got something else in common."

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He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

He gasps awake in the darkness, but he doesn't realize it—the dream is still _too close_, too fresh. There is a churning in his gut, an explosive screaming in his brain, and he gags. Tahno stumbles into the bathroom, turns on all of the faucets with little care for heat or no heat, and tears off his shirt, leaning against the sink, hanging his head, with the water rushing through his ears and the steam filtering into his pores.

Tonight, the nightmare is different than ever before.

With a sudden wrenching of his gut, a physical blow that yanks his stomach out from inside him, he pitches forward over the sink and wretches. He coughs up the the disgusting fluids, spitting out the bitter taste, and runs his fingers through the cold water, letting his hand redirect the flow onto the ceramic and rinse out the rest. He swallows roughly, then scoops his cupped hands under the flow, splashing the water onto his face and hair, letting the coolness fill and soothe his burning, acid mouth.

_Win the fight. __Take the Championship. Stumble back. Lose your bending. _Wake up.

It's how it should have gone. It was normal. Expected. Reliable. _Repeat, repeat, repeat. _It has been many weeks since the last plot twist, the unexpected swerve into somehow regaining his bending—take it back, take it back, _take it back_—but even that would have been better than _this_.

_Win the fight. __Take the Championship. Stumble back. Lose your bending. _Repeat.

But he can still see it.

He can see her, kneeling and trapped—_like he had been, like all those before her_—arms contorted in unnatural angles as she fights to break the hold of whatever is trapping her in place, eyes wide and frantic—and then the moment that _he knows all too well_, when the mask and the dark, gloved hand becomes visible, descending, lowering down and you can see it coming, but you are powerless to stop it, the thundering in your ribcage, in your ears, the dull, echoing scream at the back of your mind because _this is it_ and there is no one else who can save you, no one who will come, and this is—_permanent, permanent, permanent_—the moment where the contact is made, in which you can feel a part of you simply slipping away, in a single unhurried, surreal moment, where the sound of your pounding heart softens under the dull roar of the sudden silence, and all the world is hushed.

And then he sees her fall, sees the listless, hollow look in her eyes as she is released, sways forward, and crashes onto the—

Tahno collapses to the ground, throwing himself into the space of the wall behind the door, and covers his face with his hands, trying to sort out the twisting thoughts and—_you can't help what you dream, you feel the way you feel_—but this is inexcusable, because even through the terror and the gripping horror of her losing her bending, of her losing this part of herself, there is this disgusting feeling of _something_ because _they are suddenly equal again_ and what he feels, even through the bone-ripping, skin-tearing _fear_ and anger and protection, what he's sensing, what he feels, it's—

—_relief_.

He pitches forward into the sink, and vomits.

He knows in this moment, with his mouth full of acid and his head swimming with those cold, hopeless blue eyes, with more certainty than he has ever felt in his entire life, that he won't ever be worthy of her. Whatever delusions he might have been harnessing over the last few days were nothing but wishful thinking of the highest order of stupid. He's too selfish, and—_he'll have her, he'll take whatever, however much, however little_—she gives him, but he knows that she deserves so much better.

Maybe this _is_ who he is, and the reason he still hates her for seeing him like this is not because he's caught in a rut, not because he's depressed and slowly crawling his way out of hell by tooth and nail, but because _this is actually who he is_.

He understands that he was a shallow person in the past, and that he is lost now, but he has never been able to see it quite this clearly. _Useless, pathetic, lost_; he'd been good a pretending—too good—just going on to keep going on, thinking that everything would eventually fade. _Useless, pathetic, lost_; he _knows_ that wants to find himself, that it's taking time, that it's layered with pain, that he's been dragging her down with him—and it's here, in this moment, that he considers the possibility of something has been floating through his mind for a number of weeks, but has never fully allowed himself to think.

_She'd be better off without me._

The water is not enough. In a flash of pale limbs, Tahno has stumbled into the kitchen and yanked open the door to the cabinet that has not been opened in many, many weeks. Without looking, he rips the closest bottle free from its resting place, and tears it open with shaking fingers. Without thinking, he takes a swig—a long, hard, swallow, just to wash out the taste of vomit in his mouth—but he chokes on the burn, and spits it back out into the sink, onto the shattered porcelain.

He stares into the broken pieces, feeling foul and seeing nothing, and wonders _if he's really come that far, after all. _Still just as quick to grab the bottle, still just as quick to call the girl, and was it really any surprise, his being here right now, when he'd been no stranger to his frustration with his dependence on _the Avatar_—e_specially when she is obviously not nearly as tied to him, as he is to her_.

_It's all about the guilt_, he knows. She feels guilty for not being able to save him, and he'd never blame her outright, because he knows that an admission like that—_just to hear him acknowledge it, her influence, her presence, her impact_—would ease some of her guilt away, anyway, and he knows that guilt is all that will tie her to him, now that he's _useless, pathetic, lost_, and he's not about to give that up.

And—_when it comes down to it_—what hope could he have ever had in protecting her? What could he have hoped to achieve by continuing to fight, even without his bending?

He's never fought for anything other than himself.

Even after everything that has happened, _he still doesn't blame her outright for what he lost_—and he realizes, now, that what he lost was never something he fully appreciated to begin with, something he took for granted, and perhaps the part of his personality that was also lost wasn't worth keeping anyway, but look, he's still this awful excuse for a human being, _so_—

—but for all this time that he has still refused to ease some of her guilt, to relinquish her of his hold, because he knows that the guilt and the thrill and the chase and the escapism is all that's been tying her to him, and now that he's _useless_, that the thrill is _outside_, that the _firebender_ is still there, that he is left here in this hole to rot and _wait_ until she finds the time to—

Time.

_What time is it?_

He goes to the window. It is well into the night, and even the nighttime city crawlers have begun to creep back into their beds. The world outside is quiet, and he realizes.

She still hasn't come.

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_So sad to see your little Team Avatar broken up. You had a good run. _

_This isn't over, Tarrlok. _

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_Wake up, Naga. _

_Let's go._

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She finds him sitting on the ledge by the window, staring out into the skyline, and she's never been so relieved.

"Tahno," she breathes, stepping farther into the room. But he doesn't look at her.

He doesn't even look up.

"Tahno?"

She looks down at his hands and—_as her heart drops into her stomach_—she sees a familiar bottle between his fingers.

"You're late."

"Tahno," she says again, but her voice has changed. "What are you—"

"Half the city is without power," he observes tonelessly. "I assume your patrol didn't go very well."

Korra swallows, trying to steer her eyes back to his face instead of what is resting in his hands. "Tarrlok shut off all of the power on the east side," she explains, letting her anger creep into her voice. "He tried capturing all of the non-benders by claiming that their protest was an Equalist rally. I tried to stop him, but he—he did the _unthinkable_, Tahno. The only reason I stopped—why I _had_ to stop—was because he locked up my friends—everyone—Bolin, Asami, Mako—"

"Are you crazy?" he asks, with a voice that's far too calm.

"I—what?"

For a moment, it is quiet. For reasons that she doesn't entirely understand, Korra stays put; she doesn't go to him like she wants to, but instead keeps her eyes trained on the bottle like it's wild game, or a ticking bomb.

"You were warned about this," Tahno reminds her, with his eyes still on the city, so far, far away.

"_Nobody_ could have predicted how far Tarrlok would take this."

"Right," he mutters, and Korra's brows slant downward. "So now what?"

"What kind of question is that?" she demands, feeling her fury flow through her veins. "I've got to go bust them out. I'm going to go to City Hall and storm Tarrlok's office and—dammit, Tahno, will you look at me, already?" she snaps.

"You know," he drawls, finally turning to look at her, and _why does she get the impression that he is laughing at her?_ "I always knew your head wasn't screwed on quite right, but I never thought you'd be this stupid."

Korra stiffens and takes a step back, reeling with shock. "Excuse me? Where did _that _come from?"

"Did you even think of the consequences of what your little team could stir up?" he asks with that same listless tone, ignoring her question completely. "Of course you didn't. You wear your heart on your sleeve and run around like you're invincible. Face it, Korra, you had this coming."

Korra blinks, trying to pull it together, but to be honest, she's still not entirely sure she even knows what's happening. "Where is this _coming_ from?" Her eyes fall back to the bottle in his hands, and she scoffs in disgust. "How many have you had?"

"You can't just do whatever the hell you want and not expect to reap the rewards."

Anger rises within her. "What, like you're any better? Don't try to feed me that crap about not letting my feelings get the best of me, Tahno, because you are the _king_ of letting your emotions rule you."

"And you _still_ think you know so much about how I feel," he laughs, openly now, but his smile is twisted, off.

Korra swallows. "Okay, seriously, Tahno, cut it out. I don't know how much you've had to drink, but you've obviously reached your limit, so—"

"Why did you come here, Avatar?" he asks her, spinning the bottle in his fingers, farther away from her outstretched hand. Puzzled and frustrated, Korra draws her brows together and retracts.

"What is with you tonight?" she asks, feeling the first twinges of desperation seeping into her blood. "I just wanted to—I mean, I just came over to... to see you."

"Right," he says.

She inhales deeply, feeling heat rush to her face. "What I _didn't_ come over here for was to watch you drink yourself into oblivion again," she says sternly. "Or to listen to your superior-than-thou take on my latest mistakes." Then she takes another breath, and tries to compose herself. "Look, I know things have been a little rough lately, and I'm _sorry _that you're upset—"

"Upset?" Tahno echoes. "You think I'm upset?"

Korra pauses. "I know you're upset. I know you're upset because I'm late and—"

Carefully, quietly, Tahno places the bottle to the side on the sill, his mind calculating a problem that she cannot see, and then, "Are you really so blind?"

She huffs, stiffening as she crosses her arms. "I'm not blind at all."

"I could spell it out for you with a ten-foot scroll, and you still wouldn't know anything," he rounds on her with hard, hard eyes, his head still resting against the wall as he bores into her with his slow-burning anger, and again, Korra is at a loss. "I may not always be forthcoming with how I feel, but I, at least, am not coward enough to hide from it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look at yourself, Avatar. Hiding and sneaking around _every_ day, for _weeks_. Even your closest friends and mentors have no idea where you actually spend your time, or _how._"Without meaning to, she winces. "You've been cradling a lie for weeks now. I accepted it before because I was a mess, and I'm still a mess, but I'm sick of it, and I'm done."

A sound escapes her, and it's suddenly hard to take in air. "_You_ agreed to this!"

He laughs again, bitter and cold, leaving Korra feeling the same. "You don't have to keep up the act, Avatar. No one's around to see your good deeds and see if you're living up to your predecessor's reputation here. No expectations, right?"

The words are mixed up, like his thoughts are all tumbling together—_double-entendres and half-truths_—and she's not entirely sure what he's talking about anymore, but she understand the first part of what he said, and she keys in on that.

"I'm not doing any of this as an act!" she spits, because _wasn't he listening when she told him before that he was the __only__ one she didn't have to put up an act for?_ And then it dawns on her, mostly, what he's trying to say—_she __does__ know him, after all, doesn't she?_—and it breaks her heart.

"Tahno... look, I don't know what we are or what you even want from this, but I'm _telling _you," she nearly pleads. "If we can just hold out for a little while longer, after this—this _revolution_ is over, things will be different. I just need time to figure it all out."

He doesn't know what the hell the revolution has to do with any of this, with _them_, and he says so.

"Tahno, I've just lost three of my friends to a prison cell!" she hisses. "Because they were aiding me!"

"Because they weren't _thinking_."

"Tahno, think about how dangerous it could be," she ignores him. "If... if Amon were to find out about us—if you were put in any more danger because of me, I—"

She falters over the words; somewhere in these words is Korra's way of trying to tell him that she cares about him—and she _has_ learned to be more careful with her feelings, with her confessions, hasn't she?—but he's still trying to process all of this, so he doesn't understand, and he still doesn't understand when she tells him that after she fixes things, she's going to go after Amon.

"Soon," she tells him, and she can _feel _it. "I promised you that I was going to get him, and I'm going to keep it."

"What's the _point_?" he demands with a flick of his wrist, fuming from his spot on the sill, and Korra is surprised again. "My bending is gone. It's not coming back."

But she refuses to give up, to let this go. "There _has _to be a way," she hurries out the words, spilling them forth like the beads of a shattered necklace rolling across the floor, too far and too small to be snatched back up, because this is not something they talk about, _this is not something you promise a flightless Wolfbat_—

"Lady Katara _has_ to know something that will help. She's better than any other healer in the city, better than anyone in the world—"

"You're not listening," he rounds on her, and she halts. "What _difference_ will it make?"

"I..."

_I thought you wanted revenge_, she thinks.

"Don't you want to get him?" she asks, feeling her voice go quiet. "To stop him? To stop him from taking away anyone else's bending?"

"My contribution to the Equalist agenda has already been made, little girl," he nearly spits, and even after everything that's happened since she first walked in, this throws her so off-guard that before she can even think twice, she's already seething.

"But what about your revenge?" she demands and _dammit, Korra, you're the Avatar, you're supposed to help him let go of his anger, not fuel it _but she is so fucking confused and she doesn't who this person is and all she wants to know is where Tahno she knew—_thought she knew, __thought__ she knew_—went, and when he was coming back. "What about—"

"What do I care_, _Avatar? I _don't_, and that's the point."

"Tahno," she shakes her head, fighting down her anger. "Tahno, stop, you don't mean that. I—I never condoned your want of revenge, but I understood, and given what needs to happen in order to stop this revolution, to keep people safe—"

"To keep people safe?" he barks a laugh. "That's rich. Coming from the girl who's been tearing up the streets night after night, tracking non-benders lost to desperation, fighting a group of people that's been oppressed for so long that they're left resorting to violence? Tell me, just what _good _is actually coming from your little joyride parades? You feel good about what you're doing? Or is that the point, in that you're not actually _doing _anything, so you console yourself by_—"_

"I am doing the best I can," she spits, gritting through her grinding teeth. "I am trying to protect this city, to protect the ones I care about. I am trying to protect _you_, but you won't—"

"_There is nothing more that he could do to me!_" he suddenly shouts, voice clearing across the space between them. "There is nothing that could be worse than _this_!"

The words hang in the air.

In a moment of frightful clarity, understanding slowly curls through her. Watching the way his knuckles tighten into fists, over an imaginary bottle, Korra realizes—_probably more than he'll ever know_—that he feels like has nothing more to offer her.

She swallows hard, bites her lip, looks down at the floor, and her head hangs and nods from the pure weight of it—all of the little tricks that don't do the trick—because_ what is there to say?_ She doesn't want him to give up and also _he has __her_, and she knows that it'd be stupid of her to think that that'd be enough, but at least it's _something_, isn't it?

"I just—I just thought..." But then she breathes deep and loosens the arms across her chest. "I don't really know what to tell you," she says quietly. _Except that I care about you, and that I'm not keeping you a secret just to make my life easier_.

Though she _is_ doing that too, isn't she?

"I know you don't think much of it, but I don't know what I'd do if Amon ever got his hands on you again."

Something in his posture snaps, and when he slams his fist into the wall and stalks toward her, she's still not prepared.

"You really think it's _me _you'd miss?" he asks unkindly, mockingly. He sees the defensive posture she's assumed—_the one that he taught her_—and the laugh that escapes his mouth is harsh and sick with all the self-loathing in the world.

"Let's not pretend we don't know what's really going on here, little girl. Let's not pretend for _one second_ that what you're really attached to isn't the pathetic mess of an ex-bender that you claim it is, but rather the pillar of strength you've poured all of your escapist needs into for the last few weeks. As soon as you get what you want—the end of this revolution, or whatever—you'll be gone."

"Tahno, that's _not_—"

"I'm already quickly becoming less and less of any use to you," he states blandly, but his eyes are wicked with fire. "And, if he had any idea, I doubt your firebender would disagree."

"What are you talking about?" she demands, feeling her anger rise again. She is _so _furious, and so saddened by this, and she tries to convey this, but as usual, she covers one with the other. "You _know _that what you're saying isn't true."

"Isn't it?" he whispers. "Because if these last few days are any indication, I'd say your feelings for your little teammate are just as strong as ever."

"If you would just listen for _one_—"

"Face it, Uh-vatar," he flops back down onto the windowsill's ledge, and stares out into the lights, brushing her off. "You're still not over your firebender, and you plan on one day stealing him from the Sato heiress," he says, matter-of-fact, almost absently. "Meanwhile you've been using me as a distraction from your own troubles in the interim. And fine, whatever, I knew it all along; I didn't care so much about any of that before, but it's different now."

"Is that what you really think?" she asks, mouth twisted in a grim, open, gape. "That you're just a—that _I—_"

"I think it's time we both did ourselves a favor," Tahno twists his head back around to look at her with dead, dead eyes. "I think I've had enough lies to hold me over for now."

"Are you—are _you_—" she can barely get the words out she's so angry, but there's too much going on inside her head, and she can't pick out the pieces in the right order, so she tears up something that's floating near the surface. "After everything that we've been through, after all that we've done—do you have any idea what I—what _I_—I've tried my best to—"

"To what? To fix things? To fix _me_?"

Korra glares.

"We've been breaking our own rules for quite some time, Uh-vatar. It's about time we owned up to it."

"For fuck's sake, Tahno, look at how far you've come. Look at all that you've—"

"There is nothing left to heal," his voice is quiet, vicious. "I already told you not to try. And at the rate you're going, it's not going to be long before you're going to be the one in need of a healer,and you know what? It'll serve you right."

"Will you fucking stop it?" she nearly shouts, regaining her senses. "What the hell has come over you? You're not meant to be this person, this—this apathetic wallower who just _lets things happen_! You're not—"

"And you're not nearly as powerful as you think you are!" he shouts as he stands, finally tipping over the edge. "You have no foresight! A war as steeped in complexity as this one requires patience! Strategy! The point is that you don't _think, _you just do whatever you think is right, regardless of the cost."

"At least I'm _doing_ something!" she spits, feeling fire scrape down her bones. "Even if it's not up to your perfectioniststandards, at least I'm _trying _to do what's right and take care of the people who care about me—"

"Who _care_ about you?" he nearly laughs. "You mean the ones you call your teammates? How well do you think they really know you, Uh-vatar? _They_ might think they do, but they don't get it."

"Oh, and _you_ do?" she seethes, but wishes she could take it back; she reads it in his eyes. _You know I do._

Something in her stomach drops and—_that's the problem, isn't it?_

"It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" he shrugs, his apathy settled firmly back in place. "You're just going to end up worse off in the end and fine, whatever, I'm not going to give a shit. I'm sick of it."

"Why?" she demands, feeling more outraged than ever, as all of her insecurities pool together in her gut. "Because I'm too stupid to figure out what to do? Because I'm literally fucking _drowning _as the worst Avatar in history and nobody's stepping up to disagree, and none of my past lives are appearing out of thin air to help me figure it out? Or is it something more shallow, like the fact that I _do_ still have feelings for Mako?" When he stiffens, she laughs, bitterly, vindictively—_and it sounds closer to a cry_. "If we're going to talk about people not understanding, then Mako should be the first thing on _your_ list. You don't understand him at all, but I wouldn't expect you to. What _I _don't understand is why you're getting so caught up in this when he should be the _least _of your concerns."

"The least?" he looks at her disbelievingly. "Your feelings for him are at the _heart _of your concerns, little girl. Look at where you just came from! If you weren't so distracted by your feelings for him, you'd wizen up and listen to your mentor's advice and _stay put_ and wait for things to be handled in the morning, rather than trying to take matters into your own hands!"

"I'm not going to just stand by! I will _never_ turn my back on people who—"

"There are these systems in place for a reason!" he shouts, and suddenly, she finds that his face is only a foot away from hers, and _oh, look—looks like you __do__ still care after all, don't you, you liar?_ They are both breathing heavily. "And yes, they fucking suck, but if you want a chance at figuring shit out, you got to learn patience. It's all about timing—"

"You? _You_ are telling me to abide by the system? Oh, that's rich. You've taken things into your own hands a hundred times over—"

"Yeah, and _look where it's gotten me_!"

"You hypocrite," she breathes, heart pounding. "You know why I'm doing this. You know that this is the right thing to do. I can't just sit around and do nothing while the people I care about are suffering."

"Because you're a fixer," he spits, turning away.

"No," she says quietly, feeling it all the way to her core. "Because I'm the Avatar."

"Wrong again," he whispers, staring at her hard. "It's because you're Korra."

She swallows. "It's the same difference," she licks her lips, willing her voice to remain strong. "I'll do whatever I can for the people who care about me—"

"And what about the way I care about you?"

Korra is thrown by the confession, and asks what he means by that, but Tahno has already closed back up.

He scoffs. "It doesn't matter."

"What do you _mean_ it doesn't matter? You can't just say something like that and expect me to let it go!"

"Actually, I do."

She releases a sharp exhale, feeling a ringing pain pound at her temples. "Fine," she spits angrily. "Then finish what you were going to explain before, about me being or not being the Avatar instead of trying to cop out of a difficult conversation. But that's what you do, isn't it? Sneak in a surprise attack to throw me off, then put up your defenses while I'm still piecing it all together—you handle life just like you would any fight, with cop outs and cheap tricks and—_where are you going_?"

When he comes back into the room, quiet and stiff, he tosses something onto the floor between them, and Korra's stomach flips.

"What's this?" she asks quietly.

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Suddenly, the fight dies within her, and she thinks—

_This is real, isn't it?_

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"What does it look like?" he asks just as quietly, voice flat and dead.

And she doesn't know what to say because between them is a pack, fully stocked and prepared, and it's Tahno's.

"I... don't understand."

"I've been thinking a lot lately, and tonight I finally made a decision," he stuffs his hands into his pockets, and when he looks at her, his face is blank.

"Decided what?" she asks, hollow, with eyes still on the pack.

He shrugs.

"I'm leaving Republic City."

She can't find the words, and then—

"So you're running away," she spits, turning hateful, burning eyes on him, throat tight and thick. But his voice is even and calm, and that, she thinks, is all the worse.

"You have to know when to run, Korra."

"Well," she swallows. "When are you coming back?"

"Who says I'm coming back?"

She shakes her head. "So you're just going to leave?" she demands. "Your home? Just because things got a little tough? And here you said that you aren't a coward."

Her voice sounds distant, foreign, even to her own ears. He says nothing.

"Where will you go?" she whispers.

"It's probably best if you don't know," he says blankly, but she can hear the quiet sneer. "For my own safety, I suppose."

"_Fine_," she spits furiously, and for reasons that she doesn't fully understand, she _wants _to hurt him. "You know what? Fine. It's better that you stay out of the way, anyway."

"My pleasure," he scowls more deeply. "You've always been willing to take anyone down who stands in your way, after all."

"You're one to talk! And you _know_ that's not true! But even if it were, at least if I am moving, I am moving _forward!_ And yet you just sit here all day, in your self-proclaimed prison, wallowing in your self-misery. I have my weaknesses, too, Tahno, I know that! Have you ever even asked about _my _nightmares?"

"What... what are you—"

"I have many weaknesses, Tahno, and I _lose_ it sometimes, but I keep going."

"You think that could compare to what I've gone through?" he asks, deathly quiet. "You think you would be able to handle one day with your bending having been taken from you? One _hour_?" And he pauses here, holding onto the wall for support, like he's physically going to be sick. A part of her wants to reach out to him—_so badly, __so__ desperately, to just forget this whole night and curl herself in his arms_—but she doesn't, and by the time she's actually started to consider it, he's already back up on his feet. "You talk a big talk about how bending isn't what makes someone powerful or how there is more to a person than their bending, but tell me, Korra, do you actually believe your own words?"

She doesn't want to hear what he has to say. "That is no excuse for giving up!"

"Face it, Korra—you're just as tied to your bending as the rest of us were! If you're going to preach, you better be able to stand by it."

"And I'm doing that right now—by going to save my friends!"

"Like that will do anything!"

"Doing anything? What have _you_ done since that night in the stadium? It's been weeks_, _Tahno! Months! You know, I'd always wondered why you never came right out and denied having cheated in the championship—"

"What do _you_ know about whether or not I cheated—"

"_Especially_ after seeing what a skilled bender you were, but now I see that you're lost! You're just lost," she repeats, but it's closer to a sob. "You don't know where you're going, but you race and cut through the maze anyway! Life is just a bunch of shortcuts for you! I will never forgive myself for what has happened to you, Tahno, but face it—it happened, and we're trying to fix it, but we can only do so much when all you're doing is digging your heels into the ground."

"_I never asked for you to—_"

"For fuck's sake, Tahno, _it's time to move on!_"

And then there was silence—huge and heavy and tense, broken only by their panting breaths.

"And that's exactly what I'll do," he whispers. "My train leaves first thing in the morning."

She can _feel_ it, the ice dagger that plunges into her heart. "_Fine_," she spits. "I hope you find the escape you're looking for."

"You, too."

"I'm not _looking_ to escape."

"You wanna bet? What do you call all _this_? What we've been doing for the last few weeks? Well, I hate to break it to you, little girl, but you're not going to have me to run off to anymore."

And when she swallows, and looks at him—_seeing the man he once was_—there is resolve.

"You're absolutely right," she whispers.

With slow, intentional movements, she boldly walks forward and, looking him straight in the eye, reaches down into her pocket and pulls out her spare key. She holds it up, just above his ribs, waiting for his outstretched hand. When he makes no motion to take it from her, she turns and carefully places it on the coffee table.

"Goodbye, pretty boy."

She's halfway to the door by the time he says anything, and by that time, her back is already facing his. "Fine," he hisses. "Go after them then. And when you finish?"

Korra pauses, only for a moment.

"Don't bother coming back."

When she leaves, she doesn't turn back around.

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"I won't."

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It is late into the night, so the ride is quiet, _and so are her tears_.

By the time she gets to the councilman's office, she is heated and boiling and—_face it, Korra—_

—ready to kill.

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_Still think that I'm a half-baked Avatar? _

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There is something wrong.

There are _too many_ things wrong, Tahno thinks, and too many broken bottles and broken mirrors, _but that's not it_.

He is consumed by this sickening feeling in his gut—and it only gets worse as time wears on, and he knows that's it's Korra—_it's always Korra_—and _yet_—

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That night, he ends up on the roof, staring out into the mountains,  
feeling an overwhelming sense of wrongness that he doesn't understand.

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* * *

**NEXT INSTALLMENT: **

Arc V: _**the wreckage**_ – _running away_


	12. Arc V : the wreckage : running away

**Disclaimer: **Disclaim, disclaim, disclaim.**  
Author's Notes: **_2/3/13._As you'll see, the last installment (_and this is how we fall apart_) is actually the last "big" piece of this story. From here on out, things will start to... change. You'll see what I mean. (Only two more installments to go!)

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: **Perhaps a bit obvious, but: "Set Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol. (Though I literally just listened to "The Rally" from the _Legend of Korra _soundtrack on repeat for the entire thing, as well as "Who Are You, Really?" by Mikky Ekko.)

(And I hate that I keep doing this to myself, but someone suggested the Mikky Ekko song for _Personal Record _and I am _obsessed_ with it, but I cannot remember who gave it to me because tumblr is stupid and doesn't save sent messages and I can't remember where I wrote down the url name... I am so sorry! If you were the one who recc'd it to me, please send me another message!)

**Beta'd **by the glorious **ebonyquill**.

* * *

**the wreckage**

_running away_

* * *

"A drink for the road?"

Tahno pauses.

When he looks back at the bar, Narook is leaning against the doorframe, the one leading to the kitchens. He isn't supposed to be awake yet—the restaurant doesn't open for another couple of hours—but here he is, anyway, resting against the wood and holding out a glass of water. _Half-full or half-empty? _Tahno thinks, with a mind as blank and numb as white noise.

He almost refuses.

But then he slides into a seat at the bar and drops his pack to the floor, close enough to be within easy reach. The late-night radio show host is marveling at the final appearance of a great, big snowfall, and _it's probably too early to go to the station, anyway._

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"Just one."

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* * *

It's dark.

The sounds of Tarrlok's footsteps have grown faint, have finally disappeared, and it's dark, it's _dark _and—

—this shouldn't bother her, _it shouldn't_, but she can _feel_ the panic vibrating all the way through her lungs, and soon her breathing is in such a frenzy that even a puff of fire is too much for her to conjure. Her thoughts are—_her thoughts are_—her thoughts are nothing but panic panic panic _panic_—and her head is swimming, and the steel walls are closing in around her, suffocating, and this—this is _fear—_this tightness in her chest, these claws constricting, tightening, piercing into her lungs, they are making it near impossible to _plan,_ let alone think, let alone meditate, let alone call upon her past for help, let alone—_left alone_—let alone alone _alone alone alonealonealone_—

_Aang! _her minds spits, as she lets out a blood curdling scream, and fire erupts from her lungs. _Aang! Answer me! _

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_Where are you?_

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_Aang!_

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_Aang!_

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But there is no answer.

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* * *

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_Hope you got enough beauty rest... C'mon, I'm busting you out. _

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The kiss should have been her first clue, Asami thinks.

(But then again, his arms always _had _been a little stiff when he'd held her.)

"No... No, she _can't_ be gone," he whispered—

—and that, Asami decides later, is where everything truly started to fall apart.

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* * *

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"Somebody!" Korra calls, pounding a pulsing fist into the steel, and ignoring the jolt of pain that reverberates through her rattling bones. "Help! _Please!"_

It's late—_no, it's early_—Yue help her, she can't even tell anymore, she has nothing to compare the passing minutes to, nothing but the never-ending blackness as it's absorbed into her restless eyes. In her terror, visions begin to cascade before her—blood moon, blue eyes, brown and weathered skin, and a _promise me, Korra, promise me that you will not—_but the steel is solid, relentless in its unwavering strength before her—she can_not_—where it seems to be sucking the very air—she can't, she can't try, she _promised Katara!_—from her lungs and—_Aang! _she cries into her hopeless silence, and gasps a broken breath. _Where are you!_ she screams._Why haven't you come? I need you. I need you!_

_(Why haven't you come?)_

The air is thick as it crawls inside her, what little she can manage, that is, what little doesn't suffocate her, and it scrapes along the inner walls of her nose and throat as it struggles to find its way down into her lungs. _I need you_, she pleads_, Aang, I need you_. The air escapes through her panting breaths just as easily as her universe falls down around her, and it eludes her even now, all of it, just as much as it ever has.

"_Please," _she cries into the silence, and feels the air slip right through her fingers.

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But then—  
she _breathes._

_.  
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_.  
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_I urge you to meditate on these visions;  
I believe Aang's spirit is trying to tell you something._

_.  
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_.  
_

She breathes in—

* * *

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_Nothing... I mean...  
There was this one time during the tournament when Mako and Korra kissed, but—_

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* * *

_Avatar Korra—where are you keeping her?_

It's not a kind of fear that he's used to.

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And it's here

that Mako's world

finally—

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_flips._

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_I'll ask you one more time!  
__Where__. __Is__. __She__?_

* * *

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"_Aang."_

Korra gasps herself awake. _This is it_. _This is what he's been trying to tell me all along, this is—_

—not going to help her escape.

_I've gotta get out of here, _she blinks, coming to her senses. She doesn't know what she's supposed to do with the information that Aang has revealed to her, but she has it for a reason, and she sure as hell isn't going to be using it to its fullest potential in this box. She glances upward, feeling the world settle firmly around her again, feels the metal ringing beneath her, grounding her, as she looks to the window in her cage. _I've gotta get this to Tenzin_, she thinks, knowing that he will help her find a way to find the answers. _Maybe he already knows? _it occurs to her. _How long have I been in here? How long was I out for? What—what __time __is it? Has anyone realized that I'm missing? Do they—do they know what Tarrlok __is__? What if no one comes for me? Or what if—what if someone __does__? If they don't know he's a bloodbender and they go after him—what if they have no idea? What if no one has any idea and I'm the one that has to expose him? Does anyone know that I'm gone? That I haven't come back? That—_

Her head pitches forward and her eyes squeeze shut, a pair of gray eyes staring back at her—

_No_, she hisses. _No__. Don't think like that. Don't think about anyone. Just focus on getting out of this box. Escape. Escape. _A floorboard creaks from above. _Now__, Korra. _The footfalls are heavy, leaden with anger and danger and burdened with dread; her heart hammers in her chest. _Assess_, she thinks, calculating the time and space that she does and does not have; _act_, she glares, determination hardening in its shell; her name floats down from above, coarse and rough and laden with desperate despair, and she remembers—

—_fly._

Korra has never been the kind of girl to _think_; she acts.

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Tarrlok's voice rings out in the echo of her prison, drowning out all other thoughts,

but in the little space that she allows for _him_ in her mind, she hopes

that Tahno is already far away—_and safe_—on a

one-way train,

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long

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_gone_.

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* * *

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_You two, keep an eye on them._

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"Oh, _no_," she whispers darkly, feeling the energy crackle in her palm. There might have been blood running down her left cheek; her jaw was still throbbing. "You're not going _anywhere_."

Asami almost turns and calls over the earthbender brother to follow her, but Bolin's busy with an Equalist of his own, and her special friend has already got too much of a head start. _Not how we play in __my__ book. _Lucky for her, the tunnel is a mostly straight stretch, and is well-lit enough that she can see his every move as they delve deeper into the underground. She smirks, powering up her chi-blocker's charge, feeling her fingertips go numb as it thrums through her veins. _Nowhere to run, you coward. And look at you—you're not even trying to fight back._

She gasps as he ducks into a small crevice in the wall, slipping from her line of vision completely. A part of her mind registers that this is potentially stupid, to follow this guy alone, to some unknown place where he could have reinforcements waiting, but _I can handle myself_ hisses through her mind with a vengeance—and she is the loyalist's fucking _daughter_, is she not?—and _hell_, _what are they going to do? _

_Take away my bending?_

Her eyes narrow as she thrusts herself down the narrow side corridor where he'd taken off, her heels following the heavy sounds of his as she gains more ground, electricity spiked and ready in her palm, with its terrifying streaks of lightning blue lighting her way—

_Too slow_, she smirks, and lets her mind run jagged. Her arm raises as she runs, with blank, focused thoughts calculating the pathways to his weakest points; she's already preparing for a quick end. _This guy must be amateur, the way he's running, but he's fast; too bad it's not fast enough_.

Practically upon him, _so close_, Asami rears back—

She thrusts forward, fully expecting to feel the quick rush of soft flesh reacting, reverberating to her touch; to see the muscles seize up as the currents coursed through them; to feel the static in the air as she held on tight—

But the Equalist has her chi-blocker in his own electrical grasp, a storm of blue lightning exploding in their holds, effectively neutralizing the effects from either of them. _Figures, _she silently snarls, recognizing the irony with a bitter twist of her smiling lips. _Just another safety feature she never thought she'd need_. Her father is a practical man, after all; perhaps he had always known that his weapons would somehow get into the wrong hands.

He'd just never thought it'd be hers.

Asami's elbow connects with one side of the mask, but the slippery bastard _is_ fast and she only just nicks his cheek. She quickly rectifies this with a kick to his stomach; her range of motion is limited, but there is a grunt from the side, a sharp curse of pain, and she delights in the sound. She allows herself a small smirk as she swings her weight, eyes gleaming with the soon-to-be-satisfaction of _collision_, knowing that he's already dazed and that her speed has been underestimated—her advantage, his undoing. _One of the macho ones, is it? _she pegs, sending her left hook flying.

"_Fucking hell, Sato, it's me!"_

He dodges it, but only because she fumbles. There is a glitch in her movements, a break where there should be flow, and her punch lands closer to his throat than his temple. She won't complain about the damage, but this is quickly becoming dangerous. This _Equalist _is becoming a _person _in her eyes, a human with a voice, and she doesn't want to think about such things, she doesn't want to see the face behind the mask because then that might make it _real_, this impossible truth about her father's loyalties, about who these _Equalists_, who these non-benders are, who she is _supposed _to be—

He's trying to speak again, to take off his mask, when—

—_I don't know you_, her mind spits, as she clocks the masked crusader along his jaw. She hears the sickening crunch of skull against stone as his head snaps back, but the satisfaction is gone; she feels empty, unfamiliar, like she has just said goodbye, like she has watched her tiny world burn. _You are no one, _she seethes, as she aims another blow at his chin, and knows that she's split his lip this time, at least. Her free fist rains down. _I don't know you. I don't know you. _

_I don't know you._

And in the space of a single breath, she's slammed against the wall, and that speck of air leaves nothing left in her lungs. Her bare hand is flat against the tunnel rock, her knees are trapped under his weight, and it occurs to Asami then, with her air constricted and her head light, that this could get very, very ugly.

_Is this how far my father is willing to go to avenge my mother? _she thinks with a dark, bitter laugh. It does not sound like her voice. Asami sees nothing but yellow—sickly and shiny and grim—the disgusting windows to a pair of eyes she has no reason to believe actually _see _what is before them, and for a moment, she wants nothing more than to spit in this masked man's face.

_How far would my father be willing to go to avenge me? _

"For fuck's sake, Sato," comes a raspy voice from within. Her eyes narrow. The mask's fabric has distorted the voice only slightly, but it is winded and short. Asami does not recognize it, does not want to, does not want to _think_ of which engineer or secretary or trusted confidant it is behind the mask this time, always full of lies and hatred and ignorance, but there is a dark cadence there that she almost remembers, like one from a long-lost lifetime she used to know.

She looks down. His weight is upon her, pinning her in place, but it is a defensive stance she sees now, rather than a aggressive one. Their chi-blockers are still intertwined, and from another angle—_perhaps in another world_—it might almost have appeared as if they were holding hands.

His yellow, cavernous lenses are level with hers, and then something _slips_ and they fold, and his bruised face is bared before her.

His eyes are gray.

"You've only attended like every fucking match I've ever fought in," he scoffs, then turns just a fraction to the side to spit out blood. "But I guess we fallen-benders are entitled to that kind of forgetfulness."

_No._

_No, but—_

"_Tahno_?" Asami's hissed voice spreads into the dark, shock and fury rolling into two desperate syllables. "Of the _Wolfbats_?"

He eyes her for a moment, and then, after coming to some split-second conclusion that—_apparently_—tells him he is safe, Tahno releases his hold and steps back, letting her fall to the ground as he watches; he is still careful, however, to remove himself from her line of immediate attack. _Smart_, she thinks, coughing out the strands of hair that have fallen into her mouth. _Smart __as ever_, she thinks, because she isn't entirely sure if she's as convinced about his trust in her as he is; his hands have dropped low, but her guard remains high.

The once-bender grimaces, gingerly pressing his wrist to the blood running over his lip, stemming the flow. "You got it_,_" he glares hatefully, and his dark, slick smile shows blood seeping through his teeth. He sucks them clean. "The one and only."

Asami's heart has just—_stopped_—has just accelerated beyond her control, because it's clear to her now, that this is Tahno standing in front of her, _Tahno_, waterbending Captain of the White Falls Wolfbats, fallen bender, fallen man, standing tall in an _Equalist _uniform with his right hand armored with signature _Equalist _lightning, nursing a bleeding lip that _she_ gave him and—

"What... what in the _hell_?"

His eyes are harsh and impatient, and his whole face is a mess, but _that's her doing, isn't it, that was all her_—

"Look," he spits, but there is a new quality to his voice, something conciliatory, something urgent. "There's not enough time to explain—"

"What are you _doing _here?" she demands, heedless of his words, and her voice can no longer contain the confusion and desperation she feels coursing through her blood because her whole world is falling apart around her, because _none of this making any sense, _with _this_ and Mako and—and her _father_—

"What are you doing in an Equalist uniform—and with a chi-blocker—how did you_—__how _did you—_"_

"The Avatar's not here," Tahno cuts in, quickly turning to spit out another batch of blood; Asami winces as he coughs some of it down.

"_What_?"

"She never was. You've been misled."

"What?" Asami whispers again, as his words sink in. "But—but who else would have—"

"Don't know," Tahno said quickly, quiet and low. "And no one's exactly talkin' either, but if you want any chance of finding her, your best bet is on the surface." His eyes glance from side to side, taking stock of the surrounding sounds. Asami is still processing, still losing her mind, when a jerky movement catches her attention and her eyes snap from the metal grates below to the man towering over her. He is trying to scrape the wet, hot blood off of his cheek.

"Oh, god," Asami whispers, as it all comes crashing down. "This is really happening."

"Whoa—_hey_," he halts, fingers freezing over his blood. When she doesn't look up, when she begins to sag against the wall, his hands snake out, holding her still. His metal glove is cold through the fabric along her skin. "Hey," he repeats, giving her a gentle shake. "_Not _now, okay? Now is _not _the time to have a moment."

His eyes grow alarmed as she laughs quietly beneath her breath, but she can't bring herself to care, because all she wants to know, all she's wanted to know for _days_ is—

_Then when is_?

"Sato, look at me. _Look _at me."

She does.

(And she really _did_ do a number on him, didn't she?)

"It's gonna be okay, all right? _Just_—just get your shit together and get back to the others so you can get the hell out of here and make it back above ground, before you get yourselves into _real _trouble."

Asami swallows, then nods, feeling that old familiar calm settle back in. _Not now_, she thinks, with that same kind of hollow autopilot back at the wheel. _Not now. It's not about me_, she reminds herself, staring into Tahno's wary eyes. _Not me. Not my problems. Not now. Not now._

"But what about you?"

Tahno blinks, surprised. Hastily, he lets go of her arms, all but dropping her against the wall; Asami catches herself, but she stumbles. By the time she looks back up, Tahno is righting the mask in his hands, and his expression is so familiar—so much a part of that old lifetime—that it sends chills down her spine. He smirks at her.

"Don't worry about me, heiress... You just get yourself back up on top with your little rodent boyfriend, before he ends up doing anything stupid."

* * *

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When she is on the edge of escape, with eyes and limbs locked—on _Amon_—

she is frozen,

and her mind whispers—_Run._

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_Run, Korra._

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It takes her a moment to realize that the voice is not her own;

it is but a memory.

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The voice, she realizes—

is Tahno's.

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_Run, Korra._

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_You have to know when to run._

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So she does.

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* * *

**NEXT INSTALLMENT:**

Arc V: _**the wreckage**_ – _in pieces_


	13. Arc V : the wreckage : in pieces

**Disclaimer: **Disclaim, disclaim, disclaim. Beginning lines borrowed from _Legend of Korra, _**Out of the Past**.  
**Author's Notes: **_3/3/13. _I've said it before, but I'll say it again: this fic contains some my of my personal headcanons! I know for a fact that they are shared by many in the fandom, but I'd be interested in knowing which ones were easiest to see coming and which ones came as a surprise. Also! **Just one more installment after this one, babes.** D;

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: ****"**Running Up That Hill" by Placebo, in general. "So:Lo" by Kate Havnevik for Asami. "Still" by Matt Nathanson for Tahno. "Try" by P!nk for frickin' everybody.

**Beta'd **in tireless stages, stops-and-starts, and late night chats by **ebonyquill**.

* * *

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_I'm fine. I'm glad you're here._

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_You're safe now._

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* * *

**the wreckage**

_in pieces_

* * *

"Shit," Asami hisses beneath her breath.

She isn't the kind of girl to curse, normally, but she allows herself this one slip. _It's probably the only slip anyone around here will actually be willing to—_but she cuts the bitter thought from her mind—_quick and __seamless __and efficient, _just like the rest of her—before it has a chance to settle.

Asami rinses the blood away from her finger under the steady stream of the faucet, then carefully places the broken pieces of ceramic into a neat pile on the counter. She's sure that it's salvageable somehow, and she would probably know best, after all; this isn't the first dish she's broken over the last few days in her attempts to be the helpful housekeeper as everyone else seems to be falling apart. In the next room, she can hear Tenzin speaking with someone—probably Pema—in low tones, hushed voices. She knows it's not Mako; his voice always seems so much louder than all the rest.

(As Asami's mind wanders, her nail catches on the slice in her skin, and her breath hitches in her throat; perhaps some _accidents, _she decides, aren't so unpredictable after all.)

With a sigh, Asami wraps a tiny strip of stray fabric around her finger, ties it, and moves on.

There are still plenty of dishes to wash, after all.

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(And _someone_ has to do it.)

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Mako doesn't leave Korra's side.

At least, not until Tenzin literally kicks him out.

(Well. Almost literally.

Airbending may or may not be involved.)

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And it's the little things like this

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* * *

"Oh!" Mako exclaims on the second morning of Korra's return."Sorry," he offers hastily, reaching down to kiss her as he brushes past. She wonders if he even notices when she turns her cheek.

She expects there to be more—_isn't there more?_— but this is all he says, and then he is turning away, scurrying down the hall toward the kitchen, no doubt to procure more hot water for the _just-in-case _tea that the sleeping girl doesn't need. Her sleeping draught had kept her in a state ofperpetual unconsciousness since her arrival, allowing her to occasionally wake every few hours, but only ever just long enough for her to eat something and return to her slumber. _You'd think he'd at least remember that he's a firebender at some point, _she scoffs.

"We're all concerned," she repeats, as if reading from a script. "We all care about Korra. We're just worried." And as soon as things died down, he would have a very _real_ confrontation to look forward to. _As soon as Korra wakes up, as soon as we're sure she's safe. _Though for some reason... Asami knows that it's Korrawho she wants to confront first; Mako may be the one committed to her, but it's _her _betrayal that seems to cut the deepest.

As she slowly makes her way down an empty corridor, bare feet padding along the bamboo, a horrifying thought strikes her: perhaps all of those days Korra had been running off—the days in which she'd covered for her, spread little white _lies _for her—what if it'd really been Mako she was seeing? _But no_, Asami denies immediately. _You know for a fact that most of the time she was out, Mako was with __you__. _She just couldn't imagine Korra being the kind of person to play two people at once, but... _Then again,_ _did I ever suspect the same of Mako? _Asami frowns into the shadows as she walks, swallowing hard. How well did she really know any of these people to begin with? When it came down to it, the only reason Asami had even gotten tangled up in this mess with the lot of them was a matter of her _convenience_, and why she'd gotten dragged down even deeper into it was a matter of _circumstance_.

_Maybe he really is just worried,_ Asami reasons with herself as she trails lazy fingertips over the delicate rice paper walls. _He's lost people important to him before. I'm just—I'm just over-thinking this. Of course he's worried—after everything that he's been through, can I really blame him? And isn't this is one of the things that drew you to him the most, you hypocrite? His willingness to do just about anything in order to take care of those close to him, his need to protect the ones he cares about... If you can't take the whole package, then you shouldn't have opened the lid. _

Whatever the case, Asami knows this doesn't excuse _everything_... not how he's been acting lately or how he's been treating her—_did he honestly think that I wouldn't find out about that kiss?_—but her headache—_heartache_—is back, and this is most likely the best it's going to get for now. Besides. She has the feeling that he wouldn't have offered an explanation, even if she'd demanded one.

_Not yet, anyway. _

"At least he apologized just now," she whispers to herself, and her eyes fall to the light spilling from the room ahead.

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But by the time she reaches the door—left just slightly ajar—she's already stumbled upon something she'd really rather not have seen,  
and—in viewing the full scope of the scene—she realizes the full extent of her naivete.

As she slips away unnoticed, turning downcast eyes from the quiet room—_a girl in a bed, a boy at her side, a hand intertwined—  
_Asami thinks that though he might actually be sorry...

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He really can't be  
_that _sorry  
at all.

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* * *

It's early morning when she arrives.

Tahno has only just begun the daily prep routine and is—retying the knot to his apron, _yet again_—and heating up the kitchens and setting out the freshly-washed glasses when Asami Sato comes strolling into the restaurant.

Completely disregarding the locked door.

"Good morning," she greets him. He nearly drops the crate of glasses onto the bar.

For half a minute, he can only stare at her; at first Asami merely smiles and waits, but after the silence stretches on for just a few beats too long, her expression begins to lose that look of polite patience, and from her raised eyebrows and pointed nod, Tahno gets left feeling like _he_ has somehow been made out to be the awkward, weird one in this dynamic. _The hell...? She just—she just waltzed right in like she owned the place and_—and the truth is that Tahno is impressed in spite of himself.

But Tahno is not in the mood to deal with anyone, and especially not beautiful, intriguing women—_who aren't Korra_—and _especially_ not those who closely associate with the Avatar.

"It was locked," he says, but it sounds more like a question.

"I'm pretty good with a pick and a tension wrench," she shrugs, and though her smile is apologetic, it's not sheepish. "And I suppose it doesn't hurt that it was engineered by Sato Industries, either."

Tahno merely stares at her, mostly bewildered, but admittedly a little curious. _So she hasn't totally __blown her lid __yet, then__. _He wondered just how many of her father's dirty little secrets she'd been become aware of in the last few weeks.

"Right," she readjusts the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "I'm sorry for barging in. I just couldn't wait."

Tahno hadn't even realized that Narook was behind him in the doorway until Asami sent him a smile, but Tahno's turning around is apparently Narook's cue to leave; he slips back into the kitchens, but not before shooting his server a meaningful look, and Tahno, for all his sharp senses, only briefly catches a piece of it. The whole exchange just leaves Tahno feeling tired... so much more so than he felt five minutes ago.

When Tahno turns back to her, expectant but at a loss, her gaze is direct and her voice is strong.

"I want to thank you for what you did the other day."

He tenses. "I don't think there's any need for that," he replies slowly. A warning.

But Asami stands her ground. "I disagree," she argues gently.

Tahno feels his eyes narrow as they stare one another down. The deep breath he takes to calm himself feels shallow, so he distracts himself with taking out each of the glasses and arranging them on the counter space behind the bar. He doesn't know what to say to her, doesn't _want_ to say anything. He silently wills her to just go away, but it's clear that she's not about to leave. Back still turned from her, Tahno places his palms flat along either side of the counter top, and braces himself against the edge.

"You haven't shared that with anyone?" he demands lowly, with a voice as tight as his grip on the cheap granite**.** It's an accusation. A challenge**.** A test of her character, perhaps.

His last shred of hope for secrecy.

"No," Asami responds immediately. "I wouldn't expose you like that. Especially not after what you did to help us." His jaw tightens.

"Not even your rodent boyfriend?" he challenges, taking his time to slowly turn and face her, and he's not above admitting to the petty delight he takes in the insinuations he leaves hanging in the air. And sure, any opportunity to take a jab at the firebender has an obvious, predictable result in his book, but this is about more than just childish provocation, or his—_justifiable_—resentment; Tahno needs to be sure.

Asami seems annoyed, but not nearly as much as he would have expected. Perhaps there is trouble in paradise, after all? _Surprise, surprise, _his private thoughts drawl._ We already know why_.

"I told no one," she says, eyes determined.

Tahno considers her, facing her fully as he leans back against the counter top. Asami remains where she stood when he first saw her, one hand still clutched to the strap of her bag. The bar separates them. "All right," he says, simply. He does not thank her. He nods, and that's all he can give. She nods herself and _that_, he thinks, should have been the end of it.

"But I know they would be grateful, if they knew," she adds, holding firm. And then, more quietly: "I hope one day they will."

Tahno chuckles beneath his breath. He begins going about his usual business with readying the bar. "I don't think you can really count on anything for the future anymore," Tahno tells her, and he would know; he is still counting one day at a time.

But then Asami looks at him, _straight into him_, and he feels bare. Raw. Exposed.

Cracked.

"It's not so bad, you know," she whispers.

His hands still over the many empty glasses, and Tahno's eyes slowly raise to hers. He wants to fall beneath the counter top and hide. He wants to scream at her. He wants to demand to know how she can say that so calmly, so steadily and surely, when she has no _fucking clue _what she's talking about, when she has _no idea _what he has gone through. He wants to run to the nearest train station and take the first car out of there and never look back because _she's seeing right through him, _like he's nothing more than glass, nothing more than a hollow container rimmed with emptiness between the chips, clear and transparent and specked with stains. He wants to slam her into the wall. He wants to cry.

And he hasn't cried, has he?

Not once.

Tahno shifts away and makes a motion to move somewhere else—The kitchen? The stairs? He doesn't know—but she blurts, "I'm sorry." And that's all she seems to have. "I'm so sorry."

He pauses, and that's all it takes. "You know," she begins anew, with a placating tone that makes heart stutter, makes it catch in his chest. "I thought all I wanted to do was to come down here and thank you, but... I realize now that that's a lie," she smiles a tight, crooked frown and pleads with her eyes. "I just..."

"What?" Tahno replies flatly from behind the counter, as his eyes tighten at the corners. "Wanted to come see if I needed anything? Any... help?" _Any healing? Fixing? _He scoffs. _I'd tell you to take a number, heiress, but I'd really just rather tell you to fuck off. _

"No," she replies seriously, immediately. "You look like you've done pretty good so far all on your own."

He doesn't believe her.

"What I wanted was to get a cup of coffee with you."

Tahno blinks.

_That's... direct_, Tahno observes needlessly. _Just... coffee? Or... Or __coffee__? _

The thought leaves him wholly and decidedly flabbergasted,with an extra side of _blank_**. **And then: _Doesn't she still have a ferret boyfriend to look after? _He considers her all of her, taking a good look at her for the first time since she first walked in, and even though she says nothing more, her quirked eyebrow gives him the feeling that she knows exactly what he's thinking. _She __is__ out of her mind_, he decides. _Assertive... and clearly lost. She's serious, _he realizes._ She's not here to play games_.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Tahno thinks about the serious implications_—complications—_of such a simple act. He's spent the better part of the last day and a half completely unable—_unwilling_—to sleep, wondering—_searching_—uselessly for more information on Korra's rescue. _Maybe_... Just because he didn't want his foray into the Equalist Adventures made general Avatar Team knowledge, it didn't mean he couldn't use this as an opportunity to get some needed information from one of its primary members. _I share, she shares... That's the whole point of this little double__-agent__ tirade, isn't it?_ And besides... even if he and the Avatar were done and over with on a... more personal level, he could still follow her efforts bringing about the downfall of the revolution that'd taken everything from him, at least. _It's not like it'll be much different than what I've been doing all along. _

He wants in.

_And whatever, it could be worse. _If he was going to be stuck listening to anyone from their little clique, at least it wasn't the babbling oaf, Bolin, or his worthless idiot brother. _And besides, it's not exactly like Sato is an eyesore. _

It seems like a win-win for him any way he looks at it. He gets word on the Avatar, he gets to keep up the charade of an Equalist spy, and he can continue pretending like he's making some sort of difference, after all. _But does the heiress know what she's getting herself into? _He isn't the same person she once saw on the covers of all those newspapers, the one she saw taking center stage in the ultimate golden ring.

But something tells him she already knows that.

"What you wanted," he repeats slowly, eyes searching hers. "Is that still what you want?"

"It _is _rather early, I think," she says, gaze sharp and smile sly. "Honestly, it might be too soon to tell."

His head tilts, just a fraction. Whatever it is that he's looking for, he seems to have found it. "It's never too early for coffee."

Her smile grows. "Fair enough. I'd like to try the house blend, then."

"It's still brewing," he warns her, eyes serious. Questioning. Cautioning.

Asami smiles softly and takes a seat at one of the barstools, gently dropping her bag to the floor. She's already made herself at home. "I can wait."

He allows a small smirk.

"Suit yourself."

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"By the way," she smirks at him, watching as he carefully pours dark, steaming liquid into two white, matching ceramic mugs.

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"I like the haircut;  
it suits you."

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* * *

He's surprised that Narook hasn't called him back to the kitchens yet, to actually complete his shift.

But then again, maybe he's really not.

They hadn't talked much about anything over the first cup of coffee that morning, probably because Tahno still had _work_ to do, but Narook took one look at Asami—_You hungry, girl?_—and it was all over from there. After a slight mishap—A_h... no, we'll sit at __that__ booth. Why not this one? Ah. Well... it's just—_they got right down to business. _A true daughter of enterprise, this one._

This was the third day that Korra had been out cold, periodically receiving some ancient sleeping draught intended to help her regain her strength, sent up from Lady Katara's reserves in the South Pole. Although her injuries were minor, her exhaustion and exposure to the cold nearly got the best of her. She was being fed and cared for and would be fit to resume training in just another day or two. She didn't mention the others; he didn't care to ask.

Which meant that it wasn't very long until the subject returned to him.

"Are you sure it's safe to discuss this here?" Asami asks in a low voice, partly hiding her lips behind the rim of her mug. "Won't this be dangerous for you?"

Tahno merely chuckles. "As long as I don't fuck anything up, they really couldn't care what I do, one way or the other," he leans further into the corner, casually stretching back against the wall.

"What do you mean?" she asks, brows furrowing. "Surely they wouldn't allow you into their plans if they weren't confident of your loyalty."

"That's kind of the point," Tahno takes a swig from his coffee, savoring the burn. He sighs as he sets the cup down, almost enjoying the suspenseful tension that rolls off of Sato's body in waves. "There isn't any doubt about my loyalties; according to the Equalist battalions who signed me on, I simply don't have any."

"Then how did you...?"

"Persuade them?" Tahno's smile slides crooked over his jaw. As he turns over the thoughts in his mind—_Just how much to reveal?_—he swirls the liquid in his cup, gently, slowly. It's just one of those habits he's never been able to break.

He has too many of them, honestly.

Tahno sets the coffee cup down, very gently, onto the tabletop. "What I'm about to tell you," he says carefully, leaning farther over the table. "You must swear to never repeat to the Avatar."

Asami's brows thread themselves together, confused, but she follows his lead, and leans in close. There is a moment's worth of hesitation; he doesn't blame her.

"I swear," she promises in a low voice.

Tahno sighs deep. "They were never gonna believe that someone like me was about to turn over a new leaf," he explained, looking Asami very seriously in the eyes. "And especially not so quickly. When I approached them, I made it very clear that I wasn't about reforming myself or playing follower to their revolution; I was only there for one reason." He pauses, and waits for her. _Do you see it yet? _

"What reason?" she whispers.

_Do you see why I'm the scum that I am?_

"Revenge," he says simply.

"But... why would they agree to _train _you? As some sick form of punishment? Why would they _allow_ you to seek revenge on the one who—"

Tahno sips his coffee, eyes glued to the table between them.

"Unless," Asami whispers. "Unless... the one you've declared revenge on..." Her eyes narrow, and her breath shortens. She swallows. "Isn't Amon... It's..."

He can _feel_ her throat run dry.

"It's Korra."

Slowly, Tahno's gaze rises to meet hers.

"It's a lie, of course," Tahno swirls his coffee cup, glancing down into the drink with hoodedeyes. They dart upward, catching Asami off-guard. "Just in case you were wondering."

She starts. "I wasn't—"

"I don't blame you," he smiles a cheeky, sarcastic smirk, even though the words he says are nothing but the truth. He doesn't blame _her_ for anything. "I'm not sure my train of thought is ever the easiest to follow, but I can imagine the special difficulty you might find yourself facing at the moment. The Avatar and I... have had our differences... It seemed believable enough to them, and that's all that matters."

"What did you... what did you tell them?"

He steadies himself with a long breath. "The way I saw it... What could make more sense than a fallen bender wanting to claim the weapon that had contributed to his ultimate downfall?" His eyebrows waggle into his hairline, but Asami apparently fails to see the humor. _Humorless, _he privately jabs, without feeling any of it himself at all. "And if not the ultimate terrorist, then who better to swear revenge on than the Avatar, the ultimate guardian who couldn't even save that which she was created to protect? Who abandoned the fallen?" He could see goosebumps raising over Asami's arms, and tried to stifle the churning in his gut. "All I had to say was, '_If that kind of power is supposed to belong to our protector, and it has so utterly failed us, time and time again, then why should it continue to exist at all?_'" Tahno huffs a breath of laughter and raises his cup in mock-cheers. "They couldn't argue with me there."

Asami had gone pale. "So... you essentially earned your position on the team... by claiming that the Avatar is _obsolete_? By... by _agreeing_ to help Amon bring her down?"

"_Position _is a strong word," Tahno sighs, again, as Asami merely looks on at him in wonder. _Disgusted, perhaps? I would be. I am._ "They took me, they trained me. I've been able to watch their major moves from up close, but I'll never be granted their full trust," he scoffs, fingering the ceramic handle. _Half-empty already? _"They spit on me, but they tolerate me for the sake of having another disposable pawn in their scheme, another body to add to the bulk. Knowing the person I was, the person I'd taken pride in being—they know that I'm incapable of showing remorse, of learning anything; if there's one thing they are more convinced of than my desperation to seek revenge on the Avatar, it's that being _Equalized _has taught me nothing." His smirk turns dark. "You see the irony, of course; they couldn't be more wrong... on either account."

Asami merely sits, speechless.

She only looks up when Tahno taps her on the chin, and physically holds her gaze in place. In his eyes, Asami is lost; they hold a thousand promises, a thousand threats, and a thousand unexpected consequences.

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"She must never know."

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"All... all right."

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* * *

It's been an hour since she arrived and it's just a little _too _much déjà vu for his liking.

Asami eats her noodles gratefully—on the house because _please, the old man is as subtle as a hog-monkey_—while Tahno pokes at a bowl of soup and avoids looking at _their_ booth like the plague. It's just too much at once. The girl. The booth beyond the wall. The scheming old-timer, the noodles, it's all just—

"Why _did _you join them?" Asami asks suddenly, halting her chopsticks. He notices that she doesn't put her elbows on the table. "I mean, from what you've told me and from everything that's happened, I suppose I _can_ understand why, but..." She narrows her eyes again, perceptively. "Is that really all?"

A vein in his throat twitches; he tries to cover it with a quick crack of his neck. "What else was I gonna do all day?" Tahno quips in a low voice, aiming for sarcastic, but without any real emotion at all. "Just sit around here, wallowing in my self-misery?"

Asami licks her lips, deliberating, then takes the plunge. "You know what I think?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

She smiles; it is small and close-lipped, but it is also warm and knowing. He hides his gaze in his coffee. "You put on a good front, but I think you know that there's more to this than just another case of getting your life back in order."

_Joining the __Equalists is supposed to be __restoring__ order? _"And you're an expert on such things?"

She leans forward across the table, just slightly, but he's secretly glad that he's already pressed as far back into the wall as he can get; otherwise, he might have been tempted to retreat. "I think you're the kind of person who wants to do the right thing," she speculates, which is _absurd_. "I think you've just been on top of the heap for so long that you're not sure if you're the kind of person who's cut out for it."

"Are you saying it's impossible to have both?" he challenges, not because he cares_, _but simply because _she_ seems to, and because he's found a flaw in a stream of thought of hers that he really doesn't want to expand. "To be at the top of the food chain, so-to-speak, and still do the supposedly moral thing?" He sends a pointed look toward her general attire, if only because he can't very easily indicate her very state of existence.

Her lips quirk, acknowledging his point, but he should have known better than to hope for any sort of impasse. "All right, I'll concede," she whispers through her smile. "Though I'd argue that doing the right thing is challenging no matter what stage you're at, whether it's at the top, or... at rock-bottom." She pauses here, and clears her throat; it doesn't slip his notice. "And I think you know just as well as I do that there are many ways to do the 'right' thing. There's rarely ever just the one.

"But the fact is that you're doing_ some_thing. You're right; I don't think you _are_ the kind of person who can just sit around... not when people are suffering." She swirled the coffee in her cup. "Even if you make an awfully good show of hiding it."

Her choice of words—and the memories attached—stun him into silence. _If she only knew, _he thinks, before he realizes that he's not quite sure who it is that he's referring to anymore.

"Well. That's me," he manages. His swallow tears at his throat on the way down. "No one's ever put on a show quite like I have."

"Do you fear the repercussions of someone discovering your involvement?" she asks, deftly changing the topic. "Without knowing the full truth?"

"Who's gonna find out? The Council? The _police_ force?" Tahno huffs into his cup. "Like they don't have enough to worry about as it is."

"But what if someone testifies against you, when it comes time to hold the trials?"

"I don't know," he says quickly, trying not to snap. It's not like he's really thought that far ahead yet.

Asami's brow creases with concern; she seems to understand his dilemma. "I'd vouch for you," she quietly admits.

"Well, looks like you've answered your own question, then," he deflects, hiding his surprise. On one level, Tahno feels a reluctant sort of gratitude; on another, he doesn't think it'd be wise for the young heiress to entangle herself anymore in his affairs than he's already done. _And she's only just begun to unravel, herself._

"Do you fear the wrath of the Avatar?"

_Does it still count if I've already endured it? _"Do you always refer to your teammate in such a way?"

Asami's face is carefully blank when she asks, "Does my form of address alter the question?"

Tahno's lips tighten but, eventually, he relents. "The Avatar knows me well enough for that, at least. She'd spot the lie in a heartbeat." It's here that he pauses—_just how much should I...?_—and drags a palm across his face, then allows it to support his chin. "It's not a question of the Avatar's... trust. The problem is that even though her _head_ wouldn't ever allow her to believe anything so ridiculous, well... In a way—deep down—_she's_ been believing she's to blame this whole time... Guilt is a powerful thing, especially in the Avatar's world."

"This secrecy, then, it's... it's to protect Korra from herself? Because she already believes the lies that you're hiding?"

"_Don't_ misunderstand me, princess; the secrecy is _not _for her benefit alone. I'd like to be able to walk away from all of this one day, and I'd rather not do it in pieces. I've already lost enough as it is."

"And yet you still risk so much."

She's got that barely-there smile again, the one she'd offered him when she was trying to convince him of his own moral compass, and the same one that's telling him that she's not convinced that his explanations tell the whole story. _Whatever_, he thinks, trying to shake the feeling. _Let her think what she wants. _

"Well," Asami begins anew, setting her noodles aside in favor of some fancy brand of coffee that Tahno's never even heard of, let alone seen served at _Narook's_. It's her second cup, which surprises him. "If what you said about guilt affecting her is true, then I'd hate to think what she's been harboring lately."

His mouth runs dry. "Well, if anyone would have the dirt on her now-a-days, it'd be you, wouldn't it?" his quip is light, taunting, and his final sip of coffee does nothing to soothe his aching throat.

"No," Asami denies immediately, too dejected to be properly defensive. "No, that's not what I meant at all."

"Ah. Well." And he doesn't want to ask, he _really_ doesn't want to ask— "Then what were you saying?" —but maybe, _deep down, _maybe he already knows.

She doesn't respond immediately. "I don't know," she sighs, clenching her pale fingers around the white porcelain mug. "It's not really my business to share, but... _god_, you know, whatever—the fact that it happened _is _my business, and yet for some reason I _still_ somehow ended up being the last to know, so it's just as well that it be my business to determine how and to whom it's shared, isn't it?"

"I—"

"Sometime during the course of our so-called relationship, Mako and Korra kissed." A sharp breath of laughter escapes her, while Tahno's mind goes blank. "I don't know much about her guilt complex, but it certainly explains why _I_ was such a mess down in the tunnels," she laughs scornfully, though her expression hints that she might be fighting back tears. "I'd found out just a little before I ran into you, actually... And from his brother, no less. Imagine that."

There is a tightness gripping at his chest, seizing his short-spasming lungs, and the dizziness is spreading _upwards _while liquid ice spirals _down_, spitting through his bloodstream, curving around his rigid spine, taunting the empty cavity within his chest, and then it finally occurs to Tahno to _breathe. _

"Well," Tahno coughs, but the tightness in his throat remains. His tongue is thick, dry. "You've had quite the week, haven't you?"

He can see the tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes, and a distant, distant part of him remembers that there is a _reason_ why he's not supposed to talk to people who are suffering, that he shouldn't be allowed to open his mouth when it comes to things like this, because—he's not _supposed_ to care and—all he's ever been good at is taking care of himself, and he's nothing—_nothing—_if not self-sufficient. He knows this.

(But what he _doesn't_ know is that, however insensitive his words may be, it's also the first time since the Team Avatar's arrest that anyone—_anyone_—has actually acknowledged her. Her suffering.

Her pain.)

And for the second time in a single morning, Asami is rendered speechless.

Meanwhile, the smallest part of Tahno that was still holding on—_the part that might have cared_—rapidly shrinks and withers, and wrenches itself apart until it finally shatters. In its place, jealousy twists itself into a sea of knots in the pit of his stomach—of course, he'd always _assumed_, and he'd imagined, but he'd never, ever known for sure.

The coffee curdles in his stomach.

"When?" Tahno croaks, then coughs again. His throat is clearer the next time he speaks, but only barely. "How long ago?"

Asami wilts before him. "_God_, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to just—I never—it wasn't ever my intention to just lay all this out on you. I'm sorry. This isn't why I came here." There is silence then, which Asami understandably perceives as patience; there's no way she could have known that it's actually the sound of—_the rest of_—Tahno's world slowly falling apart. "I only heard that it was during the tournament," she sighs heavily. "I didn't ask for the specifics."

"Have you confronted them?" he asks, morbidly curious. Asami sips her coffee: straight, black, he remembers, and at first he'd thought it strange, but now it seems that's she's not unused to bitterness.

"Not yet... Hey. Are you all right?"

No. _No. _

"What do you even see in this guy?" he asks, completely and utterly bewildered, but what he is asking is so much more than just the question that leaves his mouth. (Just one insight. Just _one_ reason why... one shred of understanding of what could possibly be going through her mind, that's all he needs.) It might have been said at one point in time that _he _was the biggest womanizer of them all, and—_I may be a cheat, but I'm no liar_—and he really shouldn't be so surprised, after all. The only thing she's done is proven him right.

As Tahno works hard to control his breathing, Asami watches him very closely. The cords of tendon straining in his neck, the muscles tensing through his forearms, the smudges darkening beneath his eyes, his sharp jaw locking in place...

Twice, Asami opens her mouth to speak.

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"I honestly don't know anymore."

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* * *

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_Who am I, if not the fighter?  
I'm nobody._

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_You are a fighter, but you are also a healer. _

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_Tahno? _she calls out,  
but it is a mere whisper in her mind.

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_You are the Avatar,  
but you're also Korra._

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Tahno.  
It was _Tahno_.

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_You should have just minded your own business._

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_Are you happy now?  
You think this is helping?_

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_What? _her mind reels. _What's going on?_

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_I want you to just leave me alone._

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_Wait! _she cries.  
_Tahno, wait—_

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_And when you finish?  
Don't bother coming back._

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_No! s_he calls, hopelessly into the dark. _Tahno, stop!_

_Don't leave! Where are you—wait!_

_Tahno, no!_

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_Please don't go!_

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_Tahno!_

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"Korra?"

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_Wait—!_

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"Korra?"

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_Tahno?_

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"Korra?" comes the ragged whisper from somewhere beyond the darkness. _Oh, _she realizes, letting her eyelids slowly flutter open.

_Oh_.

She opens her mouth to speak, but upon the first inhale, her words turn into a fit of wracking coughs. _Where—?_

"Oh, _thank god_," says the voice, derailing all train of thought. Her mind is nothing but a hazy cloud. "Korra. _Korra_, can you hear me? Quick, you need to—_here, take this_—slowly, easy now, not too fast."

She doesn't know where the water is coming from, but it is soothing and it's _water_. She coughs again, but only because she drinks too much at once, and once it settles, she is being carefully laid back onto the softness below—_a bed?_—and it is when her head comes to rest on the pillow that the cloudiness of her vision begins to dissipate, and the colors of the room make themselves known again. The first color she sees is red.

_Red._

Instinct propels her upwards, sending the tumult of water she'd just chugged down into a swirling mess in her stomach, and the rush against gravity leaves her mind dizzy. The voice is calling out her name again, but it only spurns her panic, her disorientation, and she is left clutching at air and skin and fabric until she is finally guided back down onto the covers—_soft, safe_—and two firm hands—_gentle, warm_—hold her still until her pants become breaths, until her heartbeat slows. _Am I—? _For a few precious moments, she can only lay still, and pray that her senses return to her. _Did I—? _Something warm brushes the loose strands of hair from her face—_strong, rough_—and lingers over her cheek—_tender, careful_—waiting for something, maybe for some sign of recognition. _Who...?_

"Mako?" a whisper cracks into the stillness. _Is that—is that my voice? _

"Yeah," he whispers, relief in his shaking fingertips, which still linger over her skin. "Yeah, it's me." The rest of the world comes into focus, and she can almost see his smile._ But Mako doesn't smile, _her mind protests. _Maybe I'm still— _"You had us pretty worried there."

_Water, _she wants to say, but her lips are so dry. She is practically chewing her tongue trying to get out the precious word, so not even Korra knows why she then uses precious energy to instead say, "I'm sorry."

She can see the shock in those golden eyes now. _Gold_. She's not used to this color. It's warm, like the sunshine, like a heart— "You idiot," he chastises, and _is he... smiling?_ "Don't apologize. Look—you're gonna be fine, okay? I'm gonna help you sit up a little so you can drink some more, but not so fast this time, or else you'll just make even more of a mess."

The water stays with her this time, even though Korra's throat aches with the effort it takes to swallow it down; she keeps drinking, swallowing, sipping, letting the shock of cold liquid clear her mind. Where was she? _What_ _happened_? The last time she—

"Mako," she gasps, breaking free from his hold; he releases her easily, but his hands do not travel far. "Where am I? What—"

"You're on the island," he assures her, watching her closely. "You're safe."

Korra's gaze falls away, landing on the soft sheets that are clutched within her grasp; she doesn't know whether to let go, or to hold them tighter. "How long...?"_ How long have I been out? How long was I gone? _

"You've been back for a few days," is all he reveals, busying himself with some items on the small nightstand, but Korra doesn't bother to watch. She can't seem to tear her eyes away from the sheets. "You've been given some medicine from Lady Katara to help you recover. But... you're awake now," he reminds her. "You're gonna be all right."

"I know."

_Crap_, her mind whispers. She hadn't meant to sound so distant. She wants to take it back—_and it's not like anyone can promise her that she'll be all right, no one can_—but she can't bring herself to do it. She doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to listen, doesn't want to _deal_ with the thought of what will happen now: _the inevitable._ The only thing Korra really wants to do is curl up into a tiny little ball and hide, but the thought of actually _being_ alone... it's enough to knock the wind straight from her lungs.

And she gets the feeling that he needs just as much convincing, himself.

"Do you... do you need anything?"

"No... No, I... _Where_ is—?" _Breathe, Korra. Breathe, just— _"_Tarrlok_," she says suddenly. "He—_he's_ the one—is he—"

She can feel Mako's eyes burning into her, leaving blazing trails over her cheek, but she can't look at him, not right now. She can't think. (She can't do _anything_.) "They're still looking," he says tightly, the sharp edge of his voice like a jagged razor, cutting zig-zags across the skin at the back of her neck. "But I _promise _you... He won't get away with what he did, Korra. Now that the Council knows... Korra, look, it's gonna be okay," he repeats. "We were really worried about you—and the whole city was in an uproar, but everyone's okay now. We're closer than ever to figuring all this shi—_stuff_—out... we're gonna give this guy the justice he deserves."

But it's too soon.

It's _too_ much.

Fear hardens into an icy pit and rolls within her gut. Her grip on the sheets clench until her knuckles match the dye, but it's not enough, so one of her hands fly to her stomach to keep the terror at bay. She falls forward, aghast at the power of the storm within her, but another hand reaches out, steadying her before she's even realized that she'd started to collapse. "Mako," she gasps, while he makes soothing, shushing sounds and tries to lead her back down to the bed. _"_Amon_—he—_he can—to Tarrlok—I have to—"

"_Rest_," he insists. "The medicine should be taking its effect again... Tenzin went into the city, but he'll be back any time now. Rest now, and the rest can wait for later."

"_Wha—?"_

_Ah_, Korra's mind floats. _The water... Katara's... I drank... _

"It's the last of it," Mako's voice sounds like an apology. "They told me that you had to drink all of it before you'd be allowed to..." _What? _His voice is fading. _Mako? _"It will only be a few more hours... Pema is..."

_Ma...ko? _

"...here soon."

"Pema—is she—?"

"She's fine," his voice soothes, now nothing more than an echo in her mind. She is _so_ tired. "The baby hasn't come yet, and... everyone is... safe, Korra. Everyone is here."

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* * *

The next time Korra wakes, the fog lifts almost as soon as she opens her eyes.

Which is precisely why her first thought is _I need to get out of this bed, _and the second is _Tahno, _and the third is:

_He's gone. _

The once-soft sheets are uncomfortable against her skin, but when she moves to sit up, her body refuses. Her exposed skin is chilled, but the fabric surrounding her is stifling, and her arms flail as she thrusts her torso upward. She doesn't make it very far, and when she collapses back down towards the bed, her elbows catch her fall. Korra lets her head drop behind her, hanging in the air, and tries to catch her breath.

Which is precisely why it takes her a moment to realize that someone is beside her.

"Good evening, Korra."

A gasp escapes her, and her head snaps upward.

"A—_Asami_?"

The girl smiles at her, but all Korra's stomach does is turn.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Ugh," Korra moans, letting her heavy weight fall onto the mattress. "You're not gonna try to drug me again like Mako did, are you?"

She supposes that maybe she should be relieved that it's not Mako again—she's not quite sure _what _she can even say to him at this point, not with everything that's happened—but Asami is primly settled into the seat at her bedside with a very watchful eye, and is thus hindering any attempts to make a stealthy exit. _Ugh. There's no way they're gonna let me move around anytime soon. _Korra has half a mind to maybe call upon Asami for a sympathetic ear and a quick partnership in the game of _why, I'm sorry, Tenzin, but I have no idea where Korra went—_

But something in Asami's expression stops her.

"No," Asami says quietly, with an eerily focused gaze. "I'm not."

"Oh," Korra swallows. "Um... Good. That's... a relief, I guess."

"I'm glad to see that you're feeling better, Korra."

She feels her elbows pressing into the mattress, sinking. "Um... Thank you. I'm... I'm glad to see you're okay too, Asami." _And out of prison! _it occurs to her. _How__ did everyone—what did I __miss__? _

"You know we—"

"I'm so sorry," Korra lets out in a wave of emotion. "It was so stupid of me to go after Tarrlok like that. I was so worried about you guys in prison, so—_so_ _pissed—_but that was... it was probably the worst thing I could have possibly done."

Asami's gaze is steady, but her lips twitch and her voice is soft. "It's probably not the worst."

The silence stretches, and Korra fidgets under Asami's gaze; she has the strangest urge to bolt, and she's not quite sure why. "How long have I been out?" she asks.

"You've been asleep for three days." Asami turns to the bedside table and lifts a pitcher of water. She pours it into a small cup and asks, "Can I get you anything?"

"No," Korra replies immediately, as her unease grows with each passing moment. The beats of silence in between raise goosebumps along her flesh. "No... Thanks, but I'm all right."

Asami's smile perseveres, but her eyes grow cold, and it is here that Korra begins to realize that _something is wrong_. "Of course," says the heiress, softly. "You gave us all quite a scare, but... I suppose I expected that you would be... All right, that is."

"Asami... are you... is everything... okay?"

Slowly, the smile fades.

"I know you've only just woken up, but there's... there's been something on my mind lately that I've been hoping to talk to you about... And if you'd excuse my curtness, I'd rather not wait."

"Uh—sure. Yeah. Yeah, of course."

"I'd like you to know that, normally, I wouldn't even consider addressing this kind of issue at a time like this—but I know you're tough enough to handle it. And frankly," Asami looked down at her, letting Korra feel the weight of her stare. "And frankly, I should have received the same respect from you. I deserved such a courtesy."

"...Asami?" Korra prompted, after she'd grown too anxious over counting the many pounds of her still-beating heart. "What are you—?"

"I know about the kiss, Korra."

Her stomach flips.

"Asami," Korra whispers, feeling her insides twist, feeling all the aches and soreness of her tired shoulders as her elbows dig into the stiff mattress. She wants to lean forward, wants to sit up—_lie back down_—but she is incapable of movement. "Asami, I'm _so_ sorry. I'm so—"

"I wish you would have told me," she continues, and Korra's voice trails off; she swallows, awaiting her judgment. "It doesn't matter how I found out, because it happened, but it would have been better to have come from one of you."

"Asami, it was just—it was a _mistake, _and—I'm so, _so_ sorry, I wasn't thinking and—it doesn't mean—"

"Don't insult me," Asami says sternly, effectively landing a blow to Korra's chest. "If it hadn't meant something, then it wouldn't have taken this long for it to surface."

"I wasn't going to say that," Korra whispers brokenly, thinking that it's funny that _she's_ feeling injured when she _really has no right_. "I was—I was going to say that it doesn't mean that he doesn't love you... Asami, it was all _my_ fault—I kissed _him_." _Please believe me, _she begs. _Please don't hate me. I just—we only just started to—just please, __please__ don't—not you, too..._ "It was after one of the pre-championship matches, and we should have come out with it right away, but I was just—I was just too much of a coward to tell you." _Too much of a coward to do anything_.

Another sigh fills the air, and it swells in Korra's ears. "But so was he," Asami says, voice low, eyes harsh. "You both made your choices, and now we _all_ have to sort through the mess... But once again, with all that's going on, my personal problems are so not the important issue here," and now, more than ever, there is bitterness in those words. Her father. Mako. Her friend.

_I was supposed to be her friend_.

Korra's lip trembles, and she bites it down because _she has no right_. "Asami, I'm sorry. After all you've... I _promise_ you that... I don't even know what to... I'm sorry," the girl whispers. "I know there's no excuse."

"No," Asami agrees, and it's here that Korra sees just how crestfallen this girl really is. "No, there isn't."

Her heart plunges. "Asami," she nearly begs. _One step forward, two steps back._ "I am so, so sorry."

_I did this, _Korra thinks, watching as Asami's eyes begin to glisten with tears. _This is all my fault. This is all— _"I know," Asami whispers with a slow nod, wilting. "Korra, I know you are. And... I am so, _so _angry with you and _so_—so betrayed. And it's all the worse, you know, because I'd finally started to feel like—I thought... I thought for a while that we might actually be... It's not like I'd ever had very many girlfriends before, you know... what with my... with all the protection from my father and..."

"Asami," Korra finally rises up, feeling the sheets pool at her waist as her aching muscles burn. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she whispers uselessly. "I know it won't help, but I really... If I could go back, there's—there's _so _much I would change."

"Hm," she hums her breathy laughter, and Korra can't tell if she should be relieved that the tears seem to have disappeared before they'd had the chance to fall. "Perhaps you're not the only one... I don't regret confronting you, but I should have been more patient; this revolution is more important... And you've only just begun to recover."

"No. No, you _had_ to tell me—there's no way you should have had to go so long without knowing in the first place, and then—and then to have to hold all of this in on your _own_—"

"Do you love him?"

The air leaves Korra's lungs.

"Shit, I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that," Asami gasps, as Korra's heart pounds within her chest. "Just look at us... There's no excuse for me to be treating you like this either... As upset as I still am—and believe me, I _am—_I don't... I don't want to be insensitive about whatever feelings you might have for him." Asami looks her in the eye; the least she can do, Korra thinks, is have the decency to not look away, right?

"_Asami_—"

"While what you did was wrong... whatever you _feel_... that isn't your choice." The heiress' eyes drop to her lap and the Avatar's shoulder sag with defeat. "I barely know you... But at the same time I feel like I've been able to piece together some sort of... _understanding_ for how this all could have happened. Don't get me wrong; I don't necessarily forgive you, and... it'll take some time for me to really, truly get over what you did, but..." Korra knows better than to hope, but she holds her breath anyway. "But I hope that one day... maybe I'll be able to call you a friend again."

The Avatar licks her lips, buying herself a few meager seconds to try to pull herself together. "I... You have no idea how much that means to me."

Asami's brows furrow and her lips purse. "And... And I suppose I should admit that after everything that's happened, I... I might be better able to understand a bit more how certain feelings could start to get... confusing."

"What... what do you mean?"

"I mean—what I mean is," Asami nervously brushes a strand of hair behind her ear as she quickly turns and rearranges the items on the nightstand. "A lot has happened since you were taken, Korra, and I... I think I've started to understand a bit, myself, what could draw someone to act... _impulsively_."

And when Asami's gaze locks with hers—insightful and perhaps a little guilty but _alive_—she gets the feeling that it's not something she'd meant for her to see.

"Asami," Korra's eyes narrow as realization dawns. "Have you... did you—?"

"_Korra!_"

And then Tenzin is rushing forward—with Mako close behind—bursting forth from the wooden door in a flurry of fabric and relief so tangible that it nearly suffocates her. Out of the corner of her eye, she can tell that Asami is just as stricken as she, but while the Avatar is once again rooted—_frozen_—to the spot, the other girl does a much better job of holding herself together.

When Asami stands and leaves the room without a word, she gently closes the door on her way out.

The whole time that Korra watches her go, she tries to call out—_she can't ruin this, not this friendship, not when they've only just barely begun—_but the Avatar is awake and her caregivers are swarming, with Tenzin's stern warmth and his reluctant distance, and Mako's hovering, and all these _words_—

And Korra lets herself be led back down onto the pillows, and lets the sounds wash over her, mindlessly, as the others talk and reassure and busy themselves around her. One-by-one, people float in and out of the room, changing stations, switching places—_save for Mako, her very own brooding statue_—and she'd thought that a part of her would have been exulted to be on the receiving end of his attention, but she sees now—_too late—_that his affection—_too little—_is misplaced, that_ she is the wrong girl and he is the wrong_—and it's _always_ the same words, the same looks, the same _Korra, I'm so glad you're safe, _but in her mind there is nothing—_because_—there is nothing but—

_He's gone._

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* * *

**FINAL INSTALLMENT:**

Arc VI: _**gray skies and blue eyes**_ – _and everything in between  
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	14. Arc VI : gray skies and blue eyes

**Disclaimer: **Disclaim, disclaim, disclaim.

**Author's Notes: **_5/13/13. _

Well. This is it, guys. Before we continue any further, I just want to say thank you again for all the love and support that you've shown this story over the last however many months. It's strange to think that all of this has happened within less than a year, and that it all started with a one-shot that simply grew too big.

I'll be honest: some of you are going to be reading through this final chapter like ~~_what the fuck~~ _but I promise...

It will all make sense in the end.

**MUSICAL INSPIRATION: **"Explosions" by Ellie Goulding. "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + The Machine. "Krokodill" by Johann Johannson.

**Beta'd **by the lovely **ebonyquill**. I honestly don't know what I'd do without her.

* * *

_**gray skies and blue eyes**_

* * *

"The Avatar has safely returned," he says, investigating the clear glass under his rag. "Does this change your plans?"

The weight of Tahno's back leans heavily against the front door, and as his arm holds the curtain aside, he scoffs. "_Which_ plans?"

Narook merely offers him a meaningful look.

The view from the entrance is not at all unfamiliar; it's a cold morning, but the skies aren't so white or as blue as much as they are gray. The chilling rain has already washed away the barest traces of snow that dusted along the city streets, but the mountaintops are crisp and bright from the recent storm. Fog lines the quiet hush, hovering about the empty walkways beyond the open door. Tahno sighs, inhaling a rare sea breeze that floats along his cheek, and feels the gentle curve of wind brush back the shorter strands of hair that hang at his temple.

"No," he relents, quietly, looking toward the distant harbor. "It doesn't change anything at all."

* * *

_and everything in between_

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Korra leans against the railing of the northernmost gazebo, looking out over the wide expanse of Yue Bay. It's a beautiful morning, in which the gray clouds mask the dawn, and the restless waves crash against the rocks below; it's a sound that she's grown used to over the last few weeks, and it's a rhythm that speaks to her very soul. Korra can see tiny specks of life shuffling over the docks along the far off harbor, and can almost imagine that she sees the sailors preparing for the sea, loading and unloading, shouting orders in the stillness of first light, breathing in the clouds of billowing steam and smoke, and soon Korra can almost taste it, too.

She feels more trapped than ever.

Mako is still there, behind her, and he's been waiting for quite some time, but she hasn't found the motivation to turn and acknowledge his presence. He is quiet, afraid to break the silence as much as she, though she knows that their reasons are not the same.

"I thought the Equalist Revolution wasn't any of your business." It slips out before she even notices, and when she eventually does, her lips part with surprise; as Korra licks and softens the dry skin, she can't bring herself to regret it.

But her accusation is taken as an invitation and, rapidly, the dam breaks. "What are you talking about?" Mako steps closer, and though his voice is soft, it's ragged with disbelief. Maybe even hurt. "Who was right there with you on patrol all those nights? Who was there the night of Hiroshi's exposure?"

They're points that Korra cannot argue, but at their core they are hollow, useless defenses; they forget so many other significant details and, worst of all, they miss her _point._ Perhaps this is why she remains silent.

"Look, I might have been reluctant to get involved at first, all right?" His voice is equal parts pleading and antagonistic, and still, she doesn't face him. It takes him a moment before he can put his words in order, and this time, a little of the opposition has melted away. "But it's not like that anymore. When Bolin was... I'll admit that it wasn't enough for me when it was just about Equalism and oppression and—and whatever, all right?" he concedes, even softer still. "But I can't apologize for that. I had to look out for what was left of my family."

Mako's warm hand falls softly on her shoulder; she should have been comforted by the act, and she wonders why she's not.

"Why the change?" she whispers. His fingers tighten their hold, brush down to meet hers, and finally, Korra lifts her eyes. _His_ eyes are gold and his hand is on her hand, and everything is warm.

_Too warm._

"Because," Mako whispers intently, trapping her in his gaze. He swallows hard, and says, "Because now it's personal."

Korra wants to ask how he could have expected to avoid a revolution forever, and how he thought he could protect Bolin from harm when a slow-crawling chaos was burgeoning all around them. His own brother, the now-almost-a-man sibling that he'd sworn to always protect, had nearly had his bending ripped from him at a rally meant to inspire and sway, and even _that_ had not been enough for Mako, not yet. _Why the change? _She wants to ask him if he's thought about the others who are suffering, the non-benders and the oppressed who'd harbored enough fear and resentment to allow a man—_an idea_—like Amon to demand such violence, if _they _have anything to do with his sudden change of heart, but it's not like _she_ can claim too understand their plight any better than he. It wasn't until after that night underground, the night in which Hiroshi's true plans came to light, until the girl he was supposed to love had her whole world yanked out from beneath her, that Mako even considered the notion of taking a stance, and _now._.. now he was making a stand and—

_Why the change?_

She waits, hoping for the answer, but it never comes.

Instead, a sound comes from farther behind, a man with a deep voice gently clearing his throat, and Mako's hand slips away. "Good morning," Tenzin calls softly from the veranda. "Excuse me, Mako, but Pema requests that you join her in the kitchen."

She feels him cast her another glance, a parting look that he hopes she'll return, but her eyes have already drifted to the sea. He lingers for as long as he can, and then he is walking away, down the stone path that will eventually lead him to where he is being called. After a time, Korra turns and meets Tenzin's grave expression with a blank one.

She can immediately see how concerned he is, and Korra scolds herself for still being just as useless and selfish of an Avatar as ever. She cracks a smile, and manages a simple, "You worry too much." Her cheekiness falls flat, but she takes pride in the effort.

Tenzin tries to be patient, but as always, he looks like he's thinking too hard, like he's got a million and one things to say and he can't decide which one he wants to deliver first. When he steps forward and meets her at the railing, Korra's not surprised to find that she's grateful for his company; she could hear a few of his million and one things right about now.

"I understand."

Her smile fades. She looks back out to the busying harbor, and shrugs. "That's an awfully big assumption to make."

Slowly, Tenzin shakes his head. "No, Korra," he sighs. "There are few who will completely understand what you have gone through, and I can't presume to be one of them... but I understand _you._" He follows her gaze toward the boats drifting out into the bay, out toward the memorial statue that guides so many home, and they watch the ships wrestle with the waves. "I couldn't have said so before with such confidence," he continues, his deep voice intoning a soothing cadence that matches the tide. "But by now I'd recognize that look anywhere; this island is my home... but I will not deny that at times over the years, it has also felt like a prison."

Korra looks up. Tenzin's gaze is wistful, and he watches as the first of the ships wander past; something tightens inside of her, and not for the first time, she wishes she were a better person.

"It's hard to wait, isn't it?" he muses, voice strangely light given the gravity of the situation, and Korra marvels at his ability. "The uncertainty, the patience... I'll admit to my earlier concerns, but after all that's happened since your arrival, it is easy to see how much you have grown. I trust your judgment, Korra, and though you will make mistakes, I know that your coming decisions will be wise. I have faith in you."

A small and tentative feeling swells in her chest, and Korra is more than a little shocked to find herself blinking back tears. His words of praise are meant to encourage her and many ways, they _do_, but... But Korra knows that she has always taken such words too quickly too heart; she has fallen short of others' expectations too many times to let herself get carried away, and instead of filling her head with confidence—with _power_—this recent show of trust makes her feel very small, very grateful, and very lucky. Humility has never come easily to Korra, but she is learning.

"I feel trapped, Tenzin," she confesses, unable bring herself to say any more.

He looks at her then, and she knows that it's true; although he may not understand everything—although he may not know _all _that she is going through—he does understand _her. _

"Then maybe you should find a way to let yourself out," he offers cryptically, with a ghost of a smirk, and it occurs to Korra that there is still much that she has to learn about him.

He strides away from the gazebo with an air of mischievous calm and Korra watches him in blinking confusion as he ambles down the path. A moment passes before realization hits, and Korra's chest explodes with a bubble of unrestrained excitement, enough to make her dizzy. Maybe, if she hurries, she can—

But she can't.

Disappointment stabs through her like a knife, because a second realization hits her just as quickly as the first.

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It isn't until the next morning that Korra gathers her courage.

Her fingers tighten over the railing along the esplanade as she stares out into the harbor, but this time it's the island she sees instead of the city skyline. Naga has been left at home, resting in the chill of the shady beach, and Korra watches as the ferryman takes on new passengers at the docks. She'll only be gone from the island for a few hours, but she couldn't bring herself to buy a return ticket. Not yet. She heaves a deep sigh, and then Korra is pulling at the lapels of a trench coat she'd borrowed long ago, and gives the hat atop her head just the slightest twist. The red scarf is missing today, but Korra doesn't mind.

The walk is a long one, and she keeps her head down the whole way through. She takes special care to avoid the busiest streets, the emptiest alleys, the calmest parks, quietly slipping through the city, unhurried and unnoticed, like a small stream of water trickling through the cracks. For many, the busy day has already begun, and no one has the time to see the young Avatar wandering the city streets, hidden in plain sight by a mere coat. Korra isn't sure if she should be grateful for the anonymity... or saddened by its implications.

She does her best not to be to embittered by it; after all, the most valuable part of her has never been her face.

Korra pushes forward, staring down the city streets with a blank determination that blessedly leaves the rest of her just as numb. She's on autopilot, with her hands in her pockets and her feet moving of their own accord, and her eyes are downcast because _she is not supposed to be here _and she doesn't need to see the dull and dusty world around her to know where she's going.

She stops at the corner, right around the bend.

It's not that she's frozen; it's just that her feet have simply lost the will to continue on, even despite their having had a mind of all their very own just moments before. She is rooted to the spot, as blank and numb and hollow as ever, and she can't bring herself to move. She can't even force herself to turn back.

_Go_, Korra's mind whispers.

She wants to go into to his apartment, to just sit alone in his old space, maybe even find some of the things he might have left behind, but she _knows._ She knows how pathetic it is, how probably-unhealthy, how damaging it could be—_it's all relative now, it's all relative_—and how, in the end, it won't change anything: It's not the apartment she wants—the bed, the rooms, the faucets, the empty space. What she wants to see is _him_, but she can't. She wants to go to _him_, but he's gone. Tahno is gone.

Her foot shifts forward, but her boot leaves a mournful, scraping sound against the stone, and on a final whim of blind panic, Korra marches past the front door to Narook's Seaweed Noodlery and slips into the once-familiar alley hidden on the other side. The light is dank and dripping, a different world compared to the hustle of the street—one that is cold and uninviting, dark and gloomy and sad—so no one notices when a strange girl launches herself onto the lower platform of a fire escape, and crawls her way up a series of metal footholds—quietly clanking in time with the sound of nearby locomotive engines, covered with dew and grime—all the way to the uppermost floor. She is a coward for avoiding Narook, but she simply hasn't the heart to face him; not his gruff voice, not his wistful smile, and especially not his too-clear eyes.

She'll come back and see him some other time, maybe. Soon.

When she's ready.

Korra isn't surprised to find the window locked; Tahno had never been huge on _privacy_, per se, and there honestly hadn't been very much that he'd been afraid of losing anymore, but he had his quirks, and he'd always been a stickler about locking things up behind him. She throws a quick reconnaissance glance about and then throws caution to wind. A few dew drops here, and a few icy breaths there, and—_voila! _A few jagged pieces of frozen metal crack and crumble away, and the lock is no more. The noise wasn't particularly loud, but Korra still tries not to look too suspicious in her long trench coat and hat as she casually slips into an apartment that isn't hers. One soft-soled boot slinks to the floor, gently calling out the old creaks in the hardwood, and then Korra carefully climbs inside and soundlessly lowers the dusty window pane.

At first, she doesn't quite realize what she's done. _I'm here_. She's still crouched on the floor, fingers digging into the wooden sill—_what am I __doing__ here?_—and then she bolts upright and hastily pulls down the cord to the shutters, trapping herself inside her new prison of choice. The cracks in the blinds send lines of light over the floor and over Korra's chest, but still, all she sees is gray. Swallowing her emotions, Korra slowly pivots, and faces the very thing that she knows will break her heart. A sigh escapes her, and she sees**.**

It's almost exactly like she'd left it, and that only makes it worse.

It had occurred to her that Narook might have wanted to open the lease as soon as Tahno had left—times are hard, after all, and she can't blame him for running his business the way he sees fit—but she had hoped with all hope that he might wait at least a little while, and it'd only been a few days—_just a few one hundred lifetimes_—but this... this was more than she could have asked for.

She wanders aimlessly through the main room, trailing hesitant fingertips over the scratchy fabric of the couch as she passes, dusting them along the engravings carved into the crest. Her eyes begin to sting as she traces the patterns of dust lining the impressions in the wood; she'd never noticed the water insignias before.

Her hand slips from the moldings once, twice—her throat gone thick with memory and missing details—and then her hold falls away entirely and she moves forward, _away. _Everywhere she looks, it's neglected and barren; for one so materialistic, he'd never bothered so much with _things_, but somehow, Korra thinks it's the smallest items in the vastness of empty space that make her feel the emptiest. The single ceramic mug just barely visible on the kitchenette counter, unused. The abandoned umbrella left by the door, unnecessary.

She doesn't dare peek into any other room, afraid of what she might remember, so she circles the small living room over and over, a tragic bird of prey too afraid to scavenge. What had she hoped to accomplish by coming here? _I don't remember. Nothing. _The only thing she can dare take away from this nightmare visit is that at least some traces of him have been left behind, some of which he might come back for one day, or at least ask Narook to hold onto... Even though what happened between them is over—_even though things will never be the same_—she can hold onto the hope that one day she might be able to tell him goodbye properly, to apologize because—

Because she'd been _too close_; her recklessness had finally dug her a hole that she almost hadn't been able to climb herself out of, not that she'd let herself think about it at the time. But since then, she'd had plenty of time to think about it, to think about exactly how she might have left things behind, and once she'd allowed herself to do it, finally, to _think..._

Korra decides that if she wants to proclaim herself a person who lives endlessly in the moment—_timelessly, forever, always_—then she'd better damn well make sure that they were moments she could die with, and not regret.

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_Do you regret __this__ decision?_

_No_, Korra realizes. No, she doesn't regret coming here.

This was the right decision, a necessary step in order to move on.

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But Korra also knows when enough

is enough.

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_Dammit_.

Tahno's hand digs into his pocket, tearing at the lining in search of a stupid scrap of metal, all while precariously balancing a large bag of groceries over one raised knows that he looks more than a tad ridiculous, but Narook is thankfully still downstairs—no doubt laughing at him from below. _You'd think I'd have learned not to lose this damn key by now._

He grumbles to himself as he pushes the paper bag against the wall, using his hip so that his leg can get a rest. He switches arms so that he can search the other pocket, but it's no use; the key is nowhere to be found. He really doesn't want to have to go back downstairs and get the master from Narook. _I'd never hear the end of it. _Tahno sighs. _Seriously, where the fuck did I—ah._

When the door opens, Tahno is not looking up; he is thinking of a million and one things that need to get done, and when and how the hell he's supposed to do them all. He'd been out the whole night for chi-blocker training, came home at dawn for barely a few winks, then turned around and aproned up for Narook's opening shift. Sometime after the lunch hour rush, he'd managed something that might have actually resembled sleep, and when he'd woken to his stomach snarling in anger, he soon found himself walking all the way to the grocer's produce stand just to simply get the smell of seal blubber off his skin. The trip had been a quiet one, in which he made his purchases and walked along the streets without any excitement or children's pointing fingers or any recognition at all; it was just as he was contemplating the depths of his own facelessness among the crowds of ordinary people that it occurred to him that the Sato heiress was due back for another visit within just a matter of days, and how little more he has to offer her.

_Coffee at dawn_. She'd come drifting into his bar with her long dark hair and her bright green eyes and would smile at him like he was worth something, and eventually, he'd have to reveal the truth. _After all she's been through, she deserves to know how wrong she is._

And yet he still wishes that he wouldn't have to be the one to tell her.

Tahno has no illusions about the extent of his selfishness, so he isn't surprised that he's come to accept Asami's company. There's something about the way she looks at him—_such trust for so jaded a person_—that makes him think that maybe there might be _some_ tiny speck of truth to her words, underneath all the countless layers of wasted potential. _Or maybe just that she's incredibly stupid__**, **_his mind snaps**, **as he tosses the key into a bowl on the shelf by the door frame, and nudges the wood closed with the ball of his foot. _But she isn't—_he knows this, too.

And that's what worries him the most.

He nearly drops the groceries to the floor. Cursing under his breath, Tahno holds tighter to the brown paper bag. "Stupid bag boy," he mutters, craning his neck to secure the top while his arms struggle to find and support the base. "Good-for-nothing, start-up, grocer-in-training... kid."

She is standing by his couch.

Or rather, she is half-hidden behind it, crouching low—_offensive, defensive, he knows that stance_—as if it were a shield, poised to strike. His first thought is _goddamn, is that really necessary? _and his second is that he half-wonders if she's already ruined the cushions in her nonsensical game and it is during the third, abruptly, that it occurs to him that—_she is here, standing by his couch_.

"I... I thought you'd left."

For another moment, Tahno can only stand still. His eyes blink, his fingers twitch, but neither his arms nor his legs aim to move. She rises slowly, placing a small hand over the back of the couch, and it is this movement—random, insignificant—that spurs him into action. Slowly, Tahno steadily twists his body to place the bag of produce on the shelf by the door, and turns back to look at her.

She is still there.

His mouth runs dry. Korra's heels are nervous-shuffling over the floor rug and she is _here_. She doesn't look the same as when he'd seen her last—_here—_but beneath the bulky beige and behind the hat she holds in her hands, Korra is here, watching and waiting for him to react, and all he can do is blink. Desperately, he wishes for water.

"I couldn't," he eventually says; the _leave you _rings clearly in his head, but he hasn't the strength to voice it.

If she hadn't been convinced already, she is sure as hell convinced now. _This was a stupid idea_, she thinks. _I should have known better. _But she had, hadn't she? And yet here she is, anyway. He'd told her_—__don't bother coming back—_and she wants to tell him that he was right, but the words won't come out of her mouth.

"You cut your hair," she quietly blurts instead. Before he has a chance to say anything else, she hastily adds, "You look like you're doing well, I mean. That's... good."

Heavily, Tahno nods; his expression is blank, and his eyes are vacant and bright, like he is staring into the headlights of a Satomobile. He says nothing.

A familiar ache quickly spreads into her chest. Korra longs to break the tension, to remove the distance, but there is simply too much space between them and she's not sure how to take it back—how to take _any_ of it back. All she needs is a sign—just one—to prove that it may not all be entirely lost, that they are still the same—_things will never be the same_—and she will know that this was the right decision, that there is still hope—

But when he takes a step forward, she shuffles back and—"I should go."

He blinks and, just a second too late—

"_Wait._"

His command falls flat against the walls, but it's still enough to chill her blood. He clears his throat. "I mean," he fumbles. On the other side of the room, Tahno slides his hands into his pockets, lest they be tempted to _reach._ "You just... You just got here."

Korra's strength wobbles, along with her smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I know, and... and I'm glad I came," she admits, with a lopsided heart. "But I should really get back, you know? Before they worry." _What are you doing? _Her mind screams, as confusion clouds his eyes. _What are you doing? _it repeats, desperately. _This is what you wanted! This is what you wanted, isn't it? Why are you trying to—? _"I really shouldn't have left the island in the first place."

"Then why did you?" he asks.

Korra opens her mouth, feeling her whole body tense for action_, _but all that comes out is the rush of a sigh. "I just... I just needed to make sure that you were okay."

Slowly, carefully, Tahno edges slightly closer; Korra tries not to run. "You were kidnapped by a deranged bloodbending fanatic... And you want to make sure _I'm _all right?"

Her laughter is born from pure instinct and nerves. She knows how it all sounds, but she can't help it; it's the truth.

"Well?"

Korra stiffens. "Well, what?"

"Are you satisfied?" he asks her, curious as to what it is she sees, but uncertain as to what it is he wants her to; it's too late by the time he realizes how his voice must have sounded to her just now, low with impatience— _instead of fear_—and harsh with demand—_instead of need_.

By the time he sees her hard swallow and her gentle nod, she is already farther away.

"I think you'll be just fine," she whispers, a tiny flare of genuine confidence balancing at one end of a tipping smile. _Say something, _his mind urges. Tahno's spine runs rigid, fists clenching in his pockets. She's skittish, like a feral cat, but whether it's due to what she's been through or to his presence—_their reunion_—he can't decide—_he'd rather not_—but if he doesn't do something soon—

_I—_

"It really was nice seeing you, Tahno," she says, but her voice is all wrong and her smile is forced and Tahno hates the way she's still putting distance between them—small, subtle steps that maybe she hopes he won't notice.

_Say something._

But he doesn't.

Whether or not Korra had been hoping for anything different, she is already slipping through his fingers**.** There is a flustered smile, a genuine look of longing, and the next thing he knows, she is at the window sill with one leg already stepping out. "You can call me, you know," she offers, but the tone doesn't match her eyes; _too bright_. "If you ever need anything."

His useless mouth opens to speak, but the fucking words just won't come. They are simply gone. Korra doesn't seem to notice.

She pauses just before she means to disappear—suspended halfway through the frame, in a backdrop of rain and old dark buildings, and beyond that there is nothing but gray skies ahead—and in this light, when she sends him an easygoing smile, it almost looks like relief.

_No,_ his mind whispers.

She smiles again, but this time the feeling feels real. She is wishing him well. She thinks she sees how things are going to be now, how things will never be the same—_he knows that look, he's lived that look, a look that cries permanence—_and as she salutes him, she says, "See you around, pretty boy."

_No—_

And as his fingers close around her small wrist, he decides that he is never letting go.

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Her eyes are on his hand, but his eyes are on hers.

He feels her shaky breath,

her hesitance,

her hope.

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Her fear.

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"Tahno...?"

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"Where do you think you're going?"

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"But—"

"Don't," he tells her, gripping tight.

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"Just stay."

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"Tahno, I—"

He pulls her in—_down, inside, closer_—and she falls into him, crashing into his chest with stiff, rigid arms—wrists poised to break her fall—but it's unnecessary because _he has broken the fall for her, _and for a split second as she meets his gaze—

He doesn't quite feel so lost anymore.

"I missed you," she whispers, eyes wide and bright with emotion. "I did. I missed you _so _much. I_—_"

There had once been a time when it had been impossible to distinguish the true initiator—_the catalyst, the healer, the fallen—_but this time it is clear that Tahno is the one who moves first, though Korra immediately follows; yet for as quickly as he comes crashing down—lips against lips, teeth into teeth—the kiss is a slow one. A taste, a test—it becomes barely a touch at all, in which he drags the skin of his lips over hers and tries to relearn the shape of her kiss. She waits for him, standing still and shaken as she holds her breath, dying to remember this feeling before she has a chance to forget. Her wrist is growing sore from the pressure, and she is going lightheaded from the lack of air, but she wants to savor the pain, this reminder that she's alive, because for a while, she hadn't been entirely sure.

Without warning, she rises up to meet him, rushing her weight forward onto the balls of her feet and reaches up to take hold of his face, pulling him down to meet her. A sound escapes his parted lips, which she catches between her teeth, and as her arms circle around his neck—_her forgotten hat falling to the floor_—Tahno's hand finally releases its hold on her wrist, grabbing onto the space between them—

And then she is lifted into the air—strong arms wrapped around her frame, hands pressing into her back—and something shifts in Korra's brain, like a memory come alive. Before he has the chance, Korra gasps her mouth away from his, answers his questioning look with a heady one, and then her shoulders shrug the long coat down her arms. Korra leans back in for his kiss, but Tahno is quicker, and he slides his lips onto the freshly exposed skin of her neck. Her head falls back as the coat falls to the floor.

Korra's legs curl around his hips as he holds her at the waist, spreading his long fingers wide over the curve of her ribs. She nudges her face down to meet his and—it wasn't so unlike the moments they'd shared before, she thinks. A quality of roughness to the touches placed with care; a tenderness beneath the marks left by fingers holding on too tight; heady, open-mouthed kisses trailing over skin; a burning, slow and sweet, just below the surface. But there is something new, as well—an intimacy that Korra has never felt before, the trace of a promise caught between them, like a—

She gasps as his tongue finds hers—_a dance is just a_—and her grip almost slips, but his hands hold firm. They are moving, she realizes. His feet are stumbling over the floor, arms straining with the weight of her as he maneuvers them through the hall. She wants him to push her up against it, to pin her against the wall and to take her, right there, just like he used to. She wants him to kiss her harder, to press his heat into hers, to prove to her that he is _here_. Korra can feel the warmth of him actually spreading into her lungs, her head, her hips—and she jerks forward, pulling closer and she thrusts herself into him, and he readily leans into her touch, gripping her shoulders, her neck, her face. She can feel the moisture in the air, clinging to their skin, slicking the journeys of his hands over her body, and Korra burns with need. A wall. The floor. She doesn't care. She is _here _and he isn't _gone _and—

Korra happens to glance up as he nips at her neck, and it is as his teeth release the tender skin that she sees where they are going, and—

"But—the bed. It's—"

He kisses her. Her mouth, her eyelids, her cheek. It is then that she realizes she is crying.

Realization crashes into her like a wave, knocking the breath from her lungs. She inhales, quick and sharp and panicked, and Tahno kisses her again—her forehead, her nose, her temple. "We're not going to the bed," he tells her. His voice is quiet, full of low and soothing sounds, but now that she can feel the crack in her heart, the fissure only spreads wider and deeper. She clings to him, shutting her eyes tight against the tears that won't stop, and as she lets herself be carried into the bathroom, he whispers, "Not yet."

The next few minutes are hazy. Korra remembers feeling warm and safe—_maybe cherished, even—_and hearing the comforting sounds of a faucet, the first crash of warm water against the cool tub. She feels him shifting and twisting, bending low to reach the knobs with her still in his arms, with her head still tucked under his chin, never once setting her to the ground. A distant part of her mind knows that this isn't right, and a whisper of a scream echoes deep within, crying out the terrifying certainty that _he shouldn't be seeing me like this._

She is the Avatar. She is strong—or, at least, she is supposed to be.

But then he strokes her hair and hoists her higher onto his hips to make her more comfortable, and she remembers that he's never really cared much about that, anyway.

Wisps of steam curl over her cheeks, and soon Korra finds her feet being carefully placed on the floor. With newfound haziness, Korra's arms instinctively raise overhead to allow the top to be pulled away, and as her heavy head falls forward onto his collarbone, she absently thinks that maybe she should protest—_she can do it herself, after all—_but she can't bring herself to complain. He's here. _And maybe I don't actually mind._

As the faucet runs loudly, filling the room with warmth, Tahno carefully strips her of her clothes, as well as his own. The tears have mostly stopped, and the step she makes into the shower is a conscious one, but there is still a heaviness to her limbs, a lethargic tilt to her head that makes it hard to keep her eyes open and _when did I get so tired? _

His hands move with the water, meticulously washing away her tears, separating the strands of hair, massaging the muscles along her back as she leans forward against him, all the while sprinkling kisses across her skin. _Is this Tahno? _her foggy brain wonders, feeling his fingers knead themselves into the threads of muscle along her shoulder. _Everything feels backwards_. _This feels familiar._

"Why didn't you leave?" she whispers, before she realizes that it's even formed in her mind, but he almost seems like he's been expecting it.

Tahno looks down at her and she looks up at him, again noticing the difference it can make—_when I can see his face_. She reaches up to feel the shorter strands, wet and smooth under the steady stream of water, then drifts her fingers to his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. His face looks fuller since the last time she'd seen him—_the last time_—and though it looks like he still hasn't gotten any sleep, she can feel a certain wiriness to his muscles that wasn't there before. _Well_...

A flash of light, of gleaming ice and dancing flames, and Korra dusts her fingers over the grooves of his chest—_the hollow of his clavicle_—and thinks, _Maybe once._

"You didn't answer me," she whispers, locking her eyes onto her hand beneath the water. Even beneath the mist of the swirling steam, Korra can see that his skin holds a healthy glow. _Has he been training again? _she wonders with a frown, unsure of why this might bother her. His arms have regained some of their old bulk, his shoulders are set just a bit wider now, and the planes of muscle at his stomach are definitely better-defined; the skin that had been growing soft has turned hard and lean—_healing, just like she'd hoped_—so why is there dread swimming in her gut?

Two fingers press below her chin, and although her face raises to meet his, her eyes are slower to follow. _He almost looks like a completely different person... Only not._ Korra frowns, feeling the inescapable urge to cry all over again. As if sensing her distress, Tahno leans close, pressing his forehead to hers, and flicks her across the ear.

"Stupid," he whispers, kissing away the sting. When he pulls back, she sees _blue eyes _and— "I already did."

It takes a moment for the implications to set in, and when they _do_—Korra shakes her head, instinctively, involuntarily, and Tahno pulls her close and holds her, giving her the reassurance for which she won't dare ask. They are in the shower for what Korra thinks must be hours, but truly, she can't really sense the passage of time, can't recognize anything save for the knowledge that _he never left_, and Tahno knows that he is going to run out of hot water, that Narook won't be able to keep footing the bill—but he doesn't care, he'll find the money. When she is lulled and calmed and when the tears have finally come to an end, he turns off the tap and wraps her in a warm towel; this time, she _does_ open her mouth to protest that _hey, I can walk myself _or maybe _hey, get your hands off me, I can do it_ but it is weak and sleepy and he picks her up before she musters the will, one arm sliding under her knees as the other supports her shoulders, and carefully carries her to the bed. He lays her down, discards his own towel to the floor, then slips underneath the covers beside her.

Her hair cools along the pillowcase, clinging to the back of her neck in the worst of ways, but Korra can barely open her eyes. The world feels like a mass of cloudy gray and the quiet calm roars in her ears. She tries to blink away the bleariness from her eyes, hoping to rid herself of this grogginess, but it just isn't meant to be. When she slowly drags her gaze up the line of the arm bent before her—_elbow, wrist, fingers_—to the pair of eyes staring back at her, drinking her in, the heaviness doubles and weighs down upon her chest, directly over her heart.

"This seems familiar," she mutters drowsily, finally voicing the thought that has been nagging at the back of her mind.

It's a small thing, but it makes all the difference; the tell-tale tilt of his smirk comes into view and— "This time, however," he quietly argues. "Is far better."

Korra's brows draw themselves together and—_she thinks she maybe shouldn't but—_she can't help but feel betrayed. "Why?" she asks, acutely aware of the break within her chest. "Because this time it's me who's the mess?"

"No," Tahno murmurs. His smirk widens, but Korra finds that the effect is no longer the same.

"Then why?" she demands.

"Because this time the clothes have been _left_ on the bathroom floor," he reminds her with a meaningful tilt of his brow, and Korra's chagrin creeps into her own. He wipes away the crease with a calloused thumb, a quirk thinning his lips, and says, "And we're both messes, Korra."

She doesn't really have anything that she can say to that, so instead she lifts a hand and, tentatively, plays with his hair. "You cut it," she repeats. His expression his blank, but his eyes are very clear, indeed.

"Yes," he whispers.

Slowly, she nods her head, brushing her cheek along the soft linen sheet. "It suits you," she tells him. She doesn't say, _Just like I knew it would._

"I'll be expecting your end of the bargain soon."

And to her surprise, she smiles. "Maybe I'll cut mine, too," she jokes weakly.

"_No._"

Korra gives him a queer smile, watching his expression with knowing eyes. _How strange_, she suddenly thinks. _To be here, like this. Again._

"What is it?" he asks.

A breathy laugh escapes her, but the sound rings hollow, a mere ripple in a stream that used to know the crashing of waves. _I thought I'd never see you again_, she wants to tell him. _I thought... _But how could she share such things? She could tell him how she'd never been more frightened in her entire life—to have her own limbs bent from her, to have her own blood betray her in such a way—or how she'd never known what it was to be so lost and alone. She could tell him that, for a brief split-second—_one that she hadn't even considered acknowledging until days later, in the privacy of her tortured thoughts_—she knew with all her heart that death _or something was worse_ had been just around the corner. She wants to tell him and yet she doesn't, for saying it aloud will make it _real _and—even if she has had too much of nightmares lately, even if _this _is nothing but a dream—she is still afraid.

But she is the Avatar and _she must be strong_, and if there was one thing Tahno seemed to care about, it was this.

"You were right, you know."

His expression tightens, and he looks at her with skeptical eyes. "About what?"

The breath becomes a scoff: tired, conceding, grateful. "About everything," she whispers. "The night I was taken away, Tarrlok said... Well, he said a lot of things."

"It doesn't matter what Tarrlok said."

"But it does," she counters, a plea for understanding. "Even if he wasn't completely right—"

"—in his right mind, you mean."

"He was still at least partly right," she finished, staring at him seriously. His eyes burned into hers. "And so were you," she admits, with every ounce of heartfelt truth she has within her. "I've been going about everything so wrong... You told me, but I didn't listen."

His tone is light, but he can't hide the way his jaw clenches. "You never listen to anyone," he points out.

"I should have," she whispers, stringing fingers through soft strands of hair. "I should have listened to you."

"Try to remember that the next time you ignore my advice." His tone aims to sass, but the feeling of his hair being petted against his temple is too great, so the words become little more than a sleepy hum.

Inevitably, she laughs—_a true, genuine laugh_—but after a few moments, her hand stills. Subdued, Korra gathers the nerve to ask, "Will there be? A next time, I mean."

Tahno opens his eyes, not having realized that he'd even closed them. He looks at her curiously. _Isn't this answer enough? _He frowns. But maybe not. _Maybe she needs to hear it? _he wonders, remembering just a few precious moments before. He'd thought his reason had been clear, back under the rain of the shower head—_he'd_ never seen so clearly, at least—and yet it hadn't been enough. She'd nearly flitted away, out of his reach, again—_no, never, never again_—but words hadn't been necessary, even then. _Maybe she does need a clearer answer,_ he decides, just as he regrets knowing that he will never be very good at giving one. _Maybe_—

"I did listen to you though," she whispers suddenly, dusting her fingers along his jaw. "At least once."

Unavoidably, Tahno snorts softly into the pillow. "Praise Yue."

"I mean it," she insists, fighting her smile. _Why hold back? _he wonders, watching the flecks of light in her eyes. He is still bewildered by her uncertainty, her hesitance, but while he can't pretend to have ever understood what goes through her mind, he knows now that he _can _convince her to stay. His head goes light and dizzy and drunk with the scent of her, and—he _has_ that power, Tahno realizes, _to convince her to stay_—

And it makes him feel invincible.

"Oh?" he smirks up at her, lifting a wide, warm hand to cup her cheek.

She isn't a very good actress, but he doesn't mind. "Just this once, I'll let it go to your head," she allows. Her eyes roll, but it is a familiar gesture, one that he never thought he'd miss. "Even if I screwed up all the other stuff... And maybe I screwed it up pretty badly, well... you were the one who taught me how to save myself, you know."

He waits for the punch line, but it never comes.

Slowly, his head turns, and Korra meets his penetrating gaze with her honest one. "What are you talking about?"

"What we did," she trails off. "Up there on the roof... When you taught me how to evade—"

"I remember," he quietly snaps; the tilt to his brow tells her that he hadn't meant to, and the tug of his frown tells her that he's just as surprised as she is.

"_I_ remembered," she continues, shifting closer, locking their eyes in an effort to keep him from pulling away. "I remembered what you taught me." When he turns his face, her hand calls it back. "When I was... When I was on the mountain, I had a choice," she hurries out. "I could try to stay and fight Amon, or I could run."

His brows furrow, he frowns, and bewilderedly, he asks, "So?"

"I heard your voice, Tahno," she told him, finding his fingers with hers. His mind runs blank. "Tahno, it was _you_ telling me to get the hell out of there."

Thoughtlessly, Tahno shakes his head, his cheek brushing against the soft fabric of the pillowcase. He'd forgotten _how_ soft it really was. "Unbelievable," he scoffs.

Korra frowns, feeling annoyance well up within her. "Why wouldn't you believe that?" she demands quietly, gripping his fingers tight.

"What?" he laughs, eyes focused on a point just beyond her ear. He is still refusing to look at her and she doesn't understand why _now _of all times— "You choosing to listen to the one piece of advice I hoped you'd never have to follow?" he spits. "Believe me, it's all _too_ believable."

Though it feels completely inappropriate given their situation, she smiles. _We're here_, she remembers. _As long as we have that... Things will never be the same—_

But they would be okay.

Consciously, Korra slides her fingers up the meager space between them and places them over the side of his face, letting her fingers spread gently over his cheek, his chin, his neck, his lips.

"Do you believe this?" she wonders aloud.

_Yes, _he thinks. _No. _

_Sometimes_.

"I meant what I said, you know," he says instead. "About the one suggestion I didn't want you to take."

"To run away?" she asks, confused. "But why not? It saved me, didn't it? That's why you taught me it in the first place."

But Tahno only shakes his head, and for the life of her, Korra can't figure out why he's so upset. Because he is. He _is _upset—

"It _was_ to help you escape," he quietly admits. Korra has given up on pulling his face toward her, and so resigns herself to instead draping her bare body flush against his. The lines of his expression tell her that he knows exactly what game she is trying to play, even as she feigns innocence—_a terrible, terrible actress_, he thinks—but Tahno is looking at her now, so that's something, at least.

"Then... what?"

A great sigh escapes him, coming from deep within his chest. "At the time, I never thought I'd be forced to one day ask it of you, myself." At her confusion, Tahno releases a scoff, and looks away again. "I just never thought I'd be in a position where I'd be forced to... make you run. From me."

"What... what do you mean?"

"What do you think all of that was?" he snaps viciously, twisting to where her frame still hovered over his chest. He can see the understanding unfold across her face. "You think any of that was for _my _benefit?"

"You—you _idiot_," she whispers, digging her nails into the thin skin of his shoulder. He hisses in pain, but she isn't quite through just yet. "_How_ could you—you _fucking_—"

"Ow—_hey_, watch it—"

"You thought it was for _mine_?" she seethes, tensing above him, and he knows that there will be bruises on skin by the morning. "How could you even _think—_for one second—that..." But she can't finish. Korra can't decide if she's more bothered by the fact that he played her—

—or by how easily she believed it.

Her eyes burn. "And who the hell gave you the right to make that decision, anyway?"

He flicks back his bangs with a scoff—_and it's so familiar, it hurts_. "Admit it," he grounds out fiercely, leaning up on his forearms to meet her beautiful, snarling, twisting face. "You weren't going anywhere with me, Avatar." And _oh, _that shouldn't sting, but it does. "Not with the way that I was."

The words manage to slip through her panting breaths, and slowly, uncertainly, her fury begins to fade. "The way that you were?" Korra whispers, searching his expression, all sharp angles and crisp lines, pale even against the cotton white. "Why would that... Why would you... ?" But one look at his face tells Korra that he is not going to answer her.

She is surprised to find that she doesn't need him to.

"Are you... are you saying that things are different now?"

_What a stupid question_, he wants to spit. Even he is so caught off guard by the sudden intensity of his feelings that he cannot properly form the words; he wants to push her away, to pull her close, to hide her away from the world in his room for the rest of forever, in a world where the outside won't exist. He wants to live in a world where she will be his, undoubtedly.

Before his eyes, her face crumples. "_Stupid_," she spits, at the same time nuzzling closer into his neck while striking an unforgiving fist into his shoulder. Tahno has gotten stronger, but she is _strong_, and so he can't help the astounded groan that tears from his lips as the sensation ricochets through his bones. "Fuck," she muffles into his neck, and the rest of her weight drops heavily onto the length of his body. Another grunt of discomfort escapes him as the air is expelled from his lungs, but this time when she raises her fist, he snatches it away and holds it tight to the side, for safe-keeping. For a few moments, there is nothing but the feeling of her chest expanding over the rise of his, the ebb and flow of their breaths sounding in the silence, and when she mutters an impassioned, "I really fucking hate you sometimes," his first response is a laugh.

"I can live with that," he quietly offers a moment later.

Whether or not she realizes the full extent of what he's offering—well.

That remains to be seen.

She's quiet as she lays over him, breathing contentedly into the space above his neck, and so when a few peaceful minutes have passed, Tahno grazes his fingers over the dip of her spine, and begins rubbing patterns and promises along the small of her back. She is thinking, he knows, and he'd rather enjoy the moment, anyway, while he can. Gradually, it comes to his notice that the spine he is tending to has stiffened, and his hands still where they lay.

She looks up at him from the crook of his shoulder—_blue eyes, gray skies_—and even before she speaks, his throat inevitably goes tight.

"Does this... does this mean that I can come back?" she whispers.

The tightness in his throat worsens, but he swallows it down as best he can. He looks at her softly, then—touching her hair, her neck, her face. He places a kiss atop each of her fingers, smoothing his thumb over the skin that was very recently a fist._ I_ _think it means that I wish you'd never left, _he tells her, latching his hand onto hers. _It means I never should have pushed you away. _

It is when he aligns his fingers with hers and closes them tightly over the back of her hand, completing the hold, that he says aloud, "It means that I never should have told you to leave."

Korra stares into his eyes—_blue skies, gray eyes; blue eyes, gray skies_—and is calm.

She is terrified, of course.

But she is at peace.

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"One more try?"

she whispers.

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He touches his forehead to hers.

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"One more try."

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It is a few hours later. Much is uncertain, but they have done what they can; it only makes sense, they agree, to keep their secrets just a little while longer—to protect her, to protect him—and then after that, _who knows?_ Korra isn't one to hide in the shadows—_only large, protective fortress-training units for decades in an icy tundra_, he points out, irritatingly—and Tahno isn't either, but he at least has the good sense to duck when trouble is coming—_Oh, yeah? Like that time in the arena? The one when I sucker-punched you in your stupid face? Remember that? Remember that, Tahno—? _

They have found a place for themselves at the window sill. _I'll show you a fortress, pretty boy, _she'd claimed, before proceeding to wreak havoc upon his bedsheets. They've taken all of his pillows and blankets and have built up, indeed, a veritable fortress—_I am Queen Korra, Avatar Mistress of the Noodlery Castle, hear me roar!—_to which Tahno has been graciously invited—_Oh, sorry, Tahno, were you hoping to be Queen instead_?—and banished all within the same half hour. Of course, he'd won his way back in through force—mainly through an uncanny knowledge of all of the headmistress' ticklish spots—but it's all just a matter of detail, really.

So here they sit together on the sill, enveloped in blankets and wrapped in each other's warmth, with Korra sitting against his chest as he leans back into the wall, and they look out into the gloomy skies. The ceramic mugs are new—_courtesy of Narook, of course, not that he knows it_—but the tea is familiar—_goddamit, Tahno!_—and they have each other and, in this moment—

It is all they need.

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"So... what happens now?"

he asks.

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There is a memory floating at the corners of her words, seeping into her voice as if it were a long-ago dream—_a dance, a fight, a fall... a fortress_—and

in many ways,

she supposes that it is.

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She looks up at him and smiles.

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"I suppose we'll see... won't we?"

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* * *

**Author's End Notes: **

_(Please excuse me while I go find a nice corner and sleep.)_

**Acknowledgements: **A huge shout-out goes to **ebonyquill**_, _otherwise known as **ahlistenalison**, my faithful beta who has been there from the very beginning, right since her very first review on _"__break the ice_." Another huge thank you for all of the beautiful works created by the lovely fanartists in honor of this story! I treasure each one. Plus, a special, _special_ thanks to **Yuki119 **for taking the time and the energy to illustrate the climactic scene of _"__but we're still so cold" _in her beautiful work-in-progress doujinshi. Thank you to all those who were there with me from the very beginning, to those who came later in the game, and even to those who will read this series long after it has concluded.

**Thank you for every review, every kind comment, and every word of encouragement!** Especially those of you who faithfully left reviews after every chapter. (You know who you are!) This project was massive, and I am so grateful to have had such wonderful readers. This was a very exhausting project to take on, but I've loved every moment of it.

Please, please, please share your thoughts for _gray skies ahead _in a review!

It's your last chance. :(

* * *

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But wait.

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What's this?

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I have been waiting for this opportunity for _so __l__ong_!

Now I can finally share more about what I _hope_ is in store!

* * *

**(PROBABLY) COMING SOON:**

_we tried to __break the ice__, __but we're still so cold__,  
and there are __gray skies ahead__—__  
now the __storm clouds come rolling in__. _

_**storm clouds come rolling in:**__  
_In which a revolution falls, secrets are revealed, even deeper betrayals are forged, bending is restored, and a new member joins Team Avatar—though... perhaps not necessarily in that order.

* * *

(Or, in other words: How will the "_break the ice_" series _finally_ diverge from canon? What role will everyone play in the downfall of Amon? What sassy names will Tahno call Mako to his face? What about all these loose ends that I have yet to tie up? Or the questions that you still have? Can I create a canon-parallel love pentagon(s) [Tahno/Korra/Mako, Asami/Mako/Korra, Asami/Tahno/Korra, Mako/Korra/Bolin, etc.] that is both tasteful and relevant to the plot? [Can _anyone_?]

Challenge: Accepted.)

**A WORD OF CAUTION: **Unlike my original plans to write this as another full-fledged fic, _storm clouds _will instead consist of **three parts, three installments, **revolving around** three very important events**. These last few months have been a very difficult time as far as Tahnorra motivation goes—what with our fandom nearly falling off the map entirely—and it came to a point where I wasn't sure I'd be able to maintain the drive to continue this _at all_. The reviews aren't coming in quite like they used to, and the screen material isn't really keeping the tags alive, so really, I can only keep riding this wave for so long. In fact, my doubt regarding this continuation was so strong that I didn't dare release any more news of my waffling until the actual posting of this final "_gray skies ahead_" installment, lest I give anyone false hope. As of now, I'm determined to finish this series the way it was intended to be finished, but I will need your help!

So.

I can finally, _finally_ say:

Keep your eyes peeled for the fourth (and final!) installment of the "_break the ice_" series, _**storm clouds come rolling in**_!


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